A Friend In Need
by MrsCumberbatch
Summary: After three years of happiness with his wife Mary, John Watson must face the worst moment of his life and Sherlock Holmes is there to pick up the pieces. But a diary appears, Sherlock's world turns upside down and he starts questioning his own feelings for his friend's dead wife. Third instalment of "The Case of The Blue Duvet" and "Termites at Baker Street"
1. The Beginning of Everything

**Title:**

**"A Friend In Need"**

**Summary:**

**After three years of happiness with his wife Mary, John Watson must face the worst moment of his life. And Sherlock Holmes is there to pick up the pieces. Third installment of "The Case of The Blue Duvet" and "Termites at Baker Street"**

**Rated:**

**T**

**Genre:**

**Angst/Friendship**

**Warnings:**

**Death character, angst moments, some swearing, bad language and BAMF!John.**

**Disclaimer:**

**This is a fictional story. Neither Sherlock (BBC) nor the respective characters belong to me.**

**AN:**

**Welcome to "A Friend In Need". This is the third installment which follows "The Case Of The Blue Duvet" and "Termites At Baker Street". I highly recommend you to read them, otherwise you'll be thoroughly lost here.**

**I am not an English speaker, I apologise in advance for my mistakes. Thanks for reading and please, review!**

* * *

**CHAPTER I:**

**THE BEGINNING OF EVERYTHING**

He was at his flat when he got the news. He heard the front door being open, then being closed by someone with rush and excitement. Then, feet running up the stairs and Sherlock immediately knew who was the owner of those feet. And who was behind his door. The man was smiling excitedly. His blue eyes were read, he had been crying and his hands were shaking.

"Sherlock, Mary's is pregnant!" Said John, half mumbling an struggling himself with his own words.

The detective, who was sitting on his armchair in front of an old lady - A possible client - got the biggest hug of his life. John pressed his body over his and embraced his friend with all his strength.

"John... you are going to break my ribs..." Murmured Sherlock while feeling himself breathless.

The doctor let go of his friend and realised what was happening. Sherlock was talking with a potential client and the lady in front of them seemed to be as clueless as Sherlock was when he first opened the door of the flat "I'm sorry, I -."

Three minutes later both friends were sitting in their respective armchairs with a warm cup of tea on their hands. Sherlock looked closely at his friend. John clothes were slightly wrinkled, not so wrinkled, but he had certainly had more than a few kisses with his wife, Mary Watson, before coming to his flat to deliver the good news. All those lines around his face had been erased somehow and the new wrinkles around his eyes meant happiness and not stress.

John was happy.

"Took you time to realise Mary was pregnant." Said Sherlock and sipped more of his tea, well, John's tea. "Tell me about the her blood test results and the number of -."

John cut him off "You knew? You knew all along?"

"I saw her last week when she came to have tea with Mrs Hudson, and it was obvious. Obvious to me, of course. Do not worry, John. She didn't even know it." Explained Sherlock calmly.

"It wasn't obvious to me! I'm a doctor and I'm her husband, I should have know before anyone!" Said john, but he was hardly angry. The only thing he wanted to know was how Sherlock knew.

"Two months and one week I presume?"

The doctor nodded happily, "We have scheduled an ultrasound next week. I can't wait to see it, to see my baby!" Added John, totally excited.

Sherlock admitted, only inwardly and only to himself that he wanted John to stay a bit longer that afternoon. It had been two years since his wedding and his friend had been keeping his promise alive; he had assisted Sherlock in every case he could and they had been visiting each other now and then when time, work and family allowed them to do so. Mary visited him frequently when she stopped by to share a nice cuppa with his landlady, but things were different and the consulting detective knew he had to get used to it.

After the termites episode, Sherlock kept his promise and every time he needed to see John and Mary, or only John, or only Mary, he said so. But this time he knew he had to keep distance. This time it was different because John was starting his own family. And even though John told him he was also family, Sherlock knew the couple needed their space. More space to themselves than ever.

A week later when he visited them, Sherlock witnessed a scene he wish he could erase from his hard-drive.

They were enjoying tea and a cake Mrs Hudson kindly baked for Sherlock and for the happy soon-to-be parents. Mary and John were discussing names and who was going to be godmother and the godfather of their first child and Sherlock was trying to fight a series of facts around his head. There something, he was able to sense something no one else seemed to notice but him.

Sherlock ignored it. Or at least, he tried.

"If it's a boy, we should name it Sherlock Mycroft Watson. What do you think?" Asked Mary to both of them, joking playfully.

"Love, for God's sake! It should be Mycroft Sherlock Holmes, isn't it Sherlock?"

The detective shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Judging by the tone of your voices, I must know you two are, how is the word John? _Joking_?"

John nodded, "Of course we are joking, Sherlock. No disrespect, but I don't want to name my child after two insufferable grown ups who keep a childish rivalry alive after years and years."

"But I like Sherlock! Sherlock Hamish Watson, what do you think?" Asked Mary, but John shook his head.

"Hamish - Hamish Watson?"

Mary smiled. Sherlock didn't say a word.

"I like it, John." Mary smiled as she placed a hand over her stomach. She didn't have a visible pregnant stomach, but Sherlock realised she seemed to like to do that, place a hand over it. "But, let me wash your cups. Sherlock, you're staying for dinner, aren't you?"

The detective twister his mouth "If I must."

Both husband and wife smiled at each other and Mary stood up from her place on the brown sofa in their living room to take the tray with the empty cups and then she made her way to the kitchen.

Sherlock's grayish eyes met a dark stain left where Mary had been seated and when he was about to say something, both he and John heard the sound of porcelain cups hitting the floor and a cry.

Mary was leaning against the counter with her blue eyes full of tears and both of her hands over her stomach. Her blue jeans had a big stain of blood and as soon as John saw her, he almost fainted. Sherlock dialed the emergency number for the first time in his life and tried to calm his friend down. The only thing Mary did was murmur _I'm sorry_, while John hugged her and cried with her as well.

The doctors told John it was a simply miscarriage. That it happens and it was inevitably and no matter what he couldn't have done, it was meant to happen.

John and Mary were devastated.

Sherlock only visited her once, when Mary was still in hospital and didn't say a word more than '_I'm sorry'_, while he was keeping an eye on her after he finally convinced John to go and get something to eat. Mary didn't look at Sherlock, her eyes were whitish, and she looked lost. When Sherlock took her hand, they were cold. And Sherlock felt useless.

After that day, John stopped visiting Sherlock as he always did and Mary stopped visiting Mrs Hudson to have their weekly cuppa. Everyone knew how sad they were, and Sherlock understood, feeling his chest aching with pain, that his friend was sad and no matter how much he wanted to stay with him, with them, he couldn't. Mary and John needed their time, their space and mostly important, they needed each other.

Three months later John visited Sherlock, and with tears in his eyes he confessed him he saw it. He told Sherlock he saw it after the surgery and as far as he could tell, it was going to be a boy. He even made Sherlock promise him he would keep his mouth shut. Because after that day in which Mary had the miscarriage, she had been under a strong depression.

* * *

At the end of the following summer, John visited Sherlock once to tell him Mary was pregnant again. And everything changed. The doctors orders - And John's - confined Mary to stay on bed during the whole pregnancy. Literally, Mary followed all the things her doctors and John, her own husband, said.

John stayed beside Mary's side every day. He barely left their flat, and when he did it, it was to buy tea, milk or another thing Mary was craving for. Sherlock silently agreed to make more frequent visits with Mrs Hudson to make Mary feel better. It didn't matter if she was pregnant again, because the memory and the thought of the previous baby lost continued there, haunting the Watsons every day.

While Sherlock told John about his latest cases, Mrs Hudson helped Mary with her knitting. It was too early to know, but Mary knew it was going to be a girl.

Sherlock never believed in _destiny_. To him it was such a word he wasn't even able to pronounce it, nor think about it. To him, destiny was a word people used as an excuse. An excuse to say they weren't able or that they did not want to do certain things because it wasn't in their destines. How dull people were, thought Sherlock.

That morning they were supposed to visit John and Mary, Mrs Hudson's sister, who lived in Cardiff fall ill and she had to go. Sherlock was left alone in a cab with that chocolate cake Mary loved so much. It was one of those cold days in which Sherlock would go to John's flat and spend the day with him and Mary, maybe watch crap telly and discuss more baby names.

"What happened to Mrs Hudson?"

When Sherlock arrived, John and Mary were in the living room watching the news. The place was warm and the detective felt a sensation of belonging to that place. It had a similar structure to Baker Street, but the furniture and the decoration gave the place a cozy look. Every place looked better than Baker Street if it had John and Mary on it.

Sherlock told them about his landlady's sister and later John agreed to cook pasta.

"Sherlock,"

"Yes, Mary." Replied Sherlock keeping his gaze on the papers he was reading. John had left five minutes ago to the nearest Tesco to buy some supplies and they were alone.

"It was a boy, wasn't it?"

Silence. The detective was speechless as he looked at Mary, who was sitting next to him with both hands over her lap, close to her small pregnant stomach.

"I know it was. I saw it on John's face after the surgery," said Mary and a few tears fell down her blue and tired eyes. "The doctors warned me not to get pregnant soon. I don't know what will happen."

Mary Watson, always knew about Sherlock's lack of experience when it was about feelings. She knew and she understood him. That's why Sherlock liked Mary so much. She wasn't that kind of woman who always demanded explanations, caresses, nice words. He knew he could tell her ignorant and she wouldn't get angry. And he knew he could drag John from some dinner and take him to some crime scene and she wouldn't say a word. She even liked it.

That was the last day Sherlock saw Mary again.

* * *

Four days later, Lestrade called Sherlock and asked him to help him with a strange case involving a serial killer that liked to leave as a trademark a piece of jigsaw puzzle inside the victim's mouth. And Sherlock being Sherlock he accepted the case, totally forgetting it was the day he was supposed to be visiting his friends.

The consulting detective was very early at the NSY ready to collect information and then visit some crime scenes when Lestrade asked him for Mary and John. "How are they?"

"Fine." Replied Sherlock while looking at some pictures of previous crime scenes involved in the same case.

"I know how it is. Molly had to be on bed the last three months of her pregnancy. We were quite scared."

"Mmm."

As Sherlock predicted and told John when he burned his blue duvet, Molly and Greg got married and had a little son. And the little toddler now calls them _'Uncle Sherock'_ and _'Uncle Jawn'_.

The case, which seemed to be dull and fully predictable, turned out to be more fascinating Sherlock initially thought it could be. A few looks at some crime scenes, some pictures, files and CCTV footage, and Sherlock had the case all wrapped up at the end of the afternoon when his phone rang.

It was Mycroft. And as soon as his older brother told him to leave whatever he was doing and go to Bart's Hospital because John needed him there, Sherlock didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

John was sitting on a chair alone in the waiting room outside the trauma rooms of the second floor of Bart's when he arrived. Mycroft had been helpful enough to send a car to the NSY and the driver was ready to take him to the hospital as fast as he could, even if it meat he had to avoid some street lights, but his employer was the British Government after all.

"John? John, what happened?" Asked Sherlock using a soft voice, that soft voice he always used when he has to interrogate some witness or when he needed a woman to do something for him and for the sake of a case. But this time his voice was soft, but true, real. Sherlock didn't need to get any information or to get a favour from John. He really meant it and he needed to know how was his friend.

Sherlock supposed Mary had lost the baby, but he saw on his friend's eyes that something worse had happened.

"John, tell me what happened, please." The detective sat next to him and placed an arm around his friend's shoulders.

As soon as John felt the warm touch of his friend, he allowed himself to sob loudly and big, heavy tears fell down his eyes. Sherlock didn't know what to do, he really needed John to tell him what had happened, even when he already knew it. He saw it, it was written all over John's face and he couldn't help but let some tears fall from his grayish eyes as well.

"Mary... she's - oh god, no. This can't - no, Sherlock." John tried to speak, but his sobs were strong enough to make it an impossible thing to do.

Sherlock continued caressing his friend's hand and rubbing his back to make him feel better. If it was possible to do so.

The detective realised what happened. He let his mind accept it.

Mary died.

"I'm sorry, John -."

Soon, the doctor broke the contact and grabbed his friend by the collar of his long coat and pressed his tall body against the nearer wall.

"You weren't there, Sherlock! You fucking weren't there when she _died_! You_ can't_ be sorry you heartless bastard!"

Sherlock let John press his body against the hospital wall and closed his eyes as soon as John started shouting at him. For a moment, Sherlock couldn't recognise his friend. John's eyes were red and he was crying uncontrollably even when he was shouting at him. However, John tighten the grip on Sherlock's coat. He buried his face in Sherlock's chest and cried. Sherlock hugged his friend and allowed himself to cry with him as well.

John was angry.

John was sad.

John was broken.

And Sherlock knew he was there to pick up the pieces.


	2. Nothing Is Easy

**CHAPTER II**

**NOTHING IS EASY**

Sherlock knew nothing was easy for normal people with normal, dull and boring brains. But after seeing John, his very best friend, crying after the death of his beloved wife who had also been his friend, Sherlock understood sometimes things aren't that easy, not even for him.

He spent the whole night hugging John, rubbing his back with his hands and trying to calm him down. However, it was impossible to do so. John cried and cried, and it seemed like he was never going to stop.

Mycroft arrived a bit later than Sherlock and decided to leave them alone and stay out of the scene. It was devastating to see John, Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, a brave man crying uncontrollably and begging for someone to bring his wife back. Mycroft sighed sadly as he saw his brother crying as well. He even found himself looking inside his pockets for a handkerchief to wipe the small tears falling from his green eyes. The Holmes brothers were fond of Mary, very fond of her and not only because she was John's wife, but also because she had won their hearts. It was impossible not to love that woman when she was intelligent, always smiling and mostly important, making John a very happy man.

After hours, John stopped crying when he felt his eyes were heavier than ever. He cleaned his face with the back of his palms and sighed when he saw his best friend caressing his hand. He looked up and realised Sherlock had been crying with him as well. There's always a first time for everything. And that night, the same night John allowed himself to cry in front of his friend, was the same night he saw Sherlock crying sincerely and sadly for the first time.

They knew they couldn't be there in each others arms just crying. There were a lot of things to be done and he didn't need and he didn't want anyone's pity. Not even Sherlock's, nor Mycroft's.

"John, how are you?" Asked Sherlock softly. He could see how sad, tired and angry his friend was only looking at him into his blue eyes.

"How do you think I am, Sherlock? Mary is dead and I can't bring her back. I was there when she died and I - I - I didn't do a fucking thing! I was there - I saw her dying and I couldn't do a damn thing!" John yelled while trying to break the contact with his friend. As soon as John raised his voice, Mycroft approached them.

"John, I can do all the paperwork -."

"I don't want your fucking pity! Go away! You weren't there you can't -."

Sherlock ignored his words and hugged his friend one more time. John's fists tried to fight his friend, he tried to stay away from him but he couldn't. The sad doctor couldn't say no to his only friend.

"It's OK John, I'll help you. OK? I'll help you." Sherlock reassured his friend and looked at his brother.

Mycroft nodded and left the hospital.

That's when Sherlock realised he needed to be as strong as a concrete wall, he needed to be there for John, for Mary, and to pick up the pieces of the broken man who was crying in his arms.

* * *

It was raining the day of the funeral.

Some people present were protecting themselves under their umbrellas, dark umbrellas, but John didn't care. He was standing in front of the closed coffin and the only thing he wanted to do was do something so he could be the one being buried right now and not Mary.

Mary didn't deserve it. Mary deserved to live a long life, with his husband and their children and be happy.

John cursed the God he believed in for taking his Mary away from him. For taking his wife and their son. John wanted to find his own gun and shoot his brains and be buried next to her. Sherlock was there with him the day after and he had slept some hours on the detective's bed. He even hated himself for sleeping when his wife had just died.

And, when he thought Sherlock wasn't looking, he found the gun and pointed at his own head trying to end the pain in his heart.  
It didn't had any bullets left.

Sherlock slapped him hard across the face that day, after Mary's death and before the funeral. John looked at him surprised, it was the first time they had used any kind of physical force against each other. Sherlock was crying. He told him Mary would be disappointed.

John knew she was.

A few members of her small family was there to leave their flowers and their condolences to the poor man. That's what John was, a poor man. Greg and Molly, Anderson and Sally, D.I. Dimmock, Sherlock, Mycroft and his assistant, Mrs Hudson, all of them were there, standing next to him and around the closed coffin while it was being covered with land.

He wanted to punch himself for being mute. But the truth is he could barely articulate a word or two after that day.

John only threw two white roses, the ones he knew Mary loved so much, over the coffin while seeing it disappear under the ground and cried quietly, letting countless tears fall down his pale cheeks, knowing the love of her life was going to be confined under the ground, inside a wooden box to never be with him again.

Sherlock took his hand the whole time and shared with him his own umbrella.

Wasn't it a coincidence it was raining the same day his love was being buried? Was the sky crying with him? Was God apologizing for taking Mary away from him? John shook his head and tried to clean his face and his eyes, but he found it quite a difficult thing to do when he was facing a gray stone with his wife's name engraved on it. More if there was also the tiny life of the baby he wished for so long as well.

John didn't say a word when he was left alone in front of Mary's grave. As soon as the coffin had been completely buried and covered with land, everyone left the place in silence. No one stopped to say a word to the widower, but they only stopped to left all the white roses they could, in memory of Mary Watson and her little baby.

"I'm going to miss you, I'll miss you so much Mary. You don't know how much I love you. I'll always love you, I promised it, remember? The day I proposed, and when we got married. I'm not going to forget you and please, _forgive me, I'm sorry Mary - I'm sorry_."

The broken doctor knelt down over the mud and kissed his hand and then he touched the gray stone. He turned around and walked away from Mary's grave.

Sherlock was waiting for him a few meters away.

* * *

The car ride back to Baker Street was silent and Sherlock agreed it was the most difficult moment of his - _their_ lives. Unspoken words, but Sherlock knew John wasn't able to go back to his flat, to the flat he had been sharing with Mary for so long. And even if John wanted, Sherlock knew his friend couldn't go there yet.

For the moment, Sherlock knew John was going to stay at his flat, until someday they could sort out the situation.

When they arrived, John was the first one to get off the car, open the door of Baker Street, run the stairs and finally close himself in his old room. Sherlock decided it was for the best to leave him alone for a while, to clear his mind, and cry. Because the detective knew he was crying, sobbing loudly.

And Sherlock cried as well, because Mary had left a hole on everyone's hearts.

Even on his.


	3. Please Help Me

**CHAPTER III:**

**PLEASE HELP ME**

After the funeral, John locked himself into his own room. He didn't want to face Mrs Hudson nor Sherlock. He didn't need them to tell him that everything was going to be alright, that he was going to be fine and time will heal everything. To John, that was bullshit. He wanted to die, however, he didn't know for sure if dying would bring his Mary back. He knew his wife was in Heaven, where she deserved to be.

He cried loudly that day. John didn't care at all if anyone was hearing his sad sobs and his disgrace. He felt punished, bitter, sad, angry. Why would God do that? Why would he take Mary away from this world, from his life and with their baby? John asked himself what he had done to deserve that. Was it Afghanistan? Was it about all those patients he had lost during his medical career? Why was it?

And why Mary?

That question almost led John to do the impossible, things he thought he would never do, nor say.

"John, Mrs. Hudson cooked us some rice."

"Go away."

Sherlock waited outside his friend's old room, resting his forehead against the cold wooden material sighed tiredly. "John, you need to eat something."

It had been hours since the funeral and it was late. Sherlock was able to spend days and days without eating, but he knew his friend wasn't like him. He needed John to be strong, he needed John to eat.

Seconds later he heard steps and then John opened the door. "Fuck off Sherlock. I don't want food, go away for fuck's sake!" He said angrily, not raising his voice.

"John, I know how you feel -."

The widower grabbed his friend by the collar of his expensive shirt and slammed his back to the nearer wall. "That's bullshit. You can't feel the way I feel because you haven't lost the love of your life. She was everything to me, you can't feel that way you-you- you weren't there - I saw her dying you fucking piece of shit!" John shouted at his friend, still grabbing him by his clothes and still pressing his body strongly against the wall.

Two seconds of silence, and Sherlock spoke again.

"You are right, John. I haven't lost the love of my life as you say, and I wasn't present at the time of death. But she was as friend of mine as you are and, in a way I can not explain, it hurts me. You are not the only one allowed to cry after her. You need to eat -." Sherlock answered back, feeling John's blue and angry eyes on him, but the doctor didn't let go of his friend and continued pressing his friend against the wall.

"Would you stop it - trying to be a genius all the time and trying to use clever words? If you loved her, just say it and, just -" He sighed loudly. "You know what? Just because you knew her before me doesn't give you the right to tell me it hurts you. Because it doesn't hurt you because you don't have a heart! You're a heartless bastard and you should be the one buried six feet under, not Mary!"

Sherlock didn't believed what John had just said. But his eyes were frightening him and his grip on his body was strong. He felt John's muscles against his own thin body and for the first time the detective feared John.

The taller man tried to shove John and push him away from him but it was impossible to do so.

"You should be the one dead!" Said John and then he punched Sherlock in the face, strong enough to send him down to the floor. He took two steps back to look at what he had done. His friend was on the floor, with both hands trying to cover his nose and the inevitable bleeding which was covering now Sherlock's mouth and leaving an important stain over his shirt.

That was the moment when he realised he had gone crazy, and insane.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry!" John knelt down close to his friend and tried to move the hands covering the bleeding nose, and Sherlock let him.

In silence, the doctor grabbed his medical kit and then both men were on the kitchen; Sherlock sitting close to the lights and John cleaning his face.

"It's not broken." Said John after finishing his cleaning.

"But it feels sore."

"It will be for a few days. Listen, Sherlock - I'm sorry."

Sherlock nodded and placed two plates with now cold food over the table.

"I'm sorry for all the things I had said and for hitting you. I didn't mean the words I said - I'm sorry, please forgive me Sherlock."

For the second time that day, John asked for forgiveness. And inside his head he was thinking how disappointed Mary was.

The detective stared at him for a moment and then he realised he was crying as well. He felt so out of character. It wasn't him. He shouldn't been crying, he should be serious, doing something or maybe nothing - but certainly not crying. However, Mary let a hole he thinks no one will be able to fill again. He was feeling the same pain as John, he haven't lost the love of his life, but he certainly lost a very good friend.

It hurt him.

"John, I forgive you. I know you are sad, extremely angry and tired and emotions are not my area of expertise, but you must understand I share your feelings. Mary was neither my lover, nor my wife nor the mother of my children, but she was my friend and you know I don't have many." Explained Sherlock, trying to fight back those tears on his grayish and alien eyes.

But the doctor allowed himself to cry while hearing Sherlock's words. Even talking about Mary and the way he felt, he did it with his usual words and style, keeping his semblance of intellectual and clever man.

"Please help me, Sherlock."

The consulting detective stopped deducing for a moment and allowed his friend to cry over his shoulder. It wasn't the first time, and he knew for sure it was not going to be the last as well.

Nothing was easy and John needed him. And he was going to be there for him.


	4. Speechless

**CHAPTER IV:**

**SPEECHLESS**

Sherlock realised it was hard the day the doctors confirmed what John wasn't able to say. Mary had lost the baby, had another miscarriage and this time they weren't able, capable, to save her life. It was too late to do something.

The detective knew John had to say it, he had to let it go.

"What happened, John."

The blond man sighed and fought back the tears inside his eyes. God knows how tired he felt and how sad he was. As his friend told him, he needed to say it, he needed to accept it and let it go. But two days ago, he was watching telly with his wife and two minutes later he was calling for an ambulance while trying not to look at the white but red stained sheets of their bed and Mary's closed eyes.

"We were watching telly... a re-run of old episodes of Doctor Who, and then I -" John took a sip of his tea and sighed inwardly. "I went to the loo and then to the kitchen. I was going to make us some soup, but I knew she was craving for Chinese so I- hold on," John asked his friend while he pressed the palms of his hands over his orbs.

Controlling tears.

Sherlock nodded and stared at him, motionless.

"I asked her what she wanted and I waited. She never replied so I walked to our room and I saw - her eyes were closed and, oh God Sherlock, there was a lot of blood... I-I- tried to feel her pulse and it was weak, she was unconscious and I tried to call an ambulance."

Once again, Sherlock only nodded and waited, already knowing what John meant. Mary had a cardiac arrest.

"They did everything they could, but it was late." Admitted John and then he drank the last of his tea.

"How far she was?"

"Thirteen weeks."

For the third time, Sherlock nodded. That's all he needed to hear and know. The placenta is more likely to be fully or partially retained in the uterus, but that wasn't Mary's case since she had an incomplete abortion, though the bleeding had been important.

He knew John couldn't have done anything to save her.

It was inevitably.

Meant to happen?

Sherlock was meant to be there, that day. He was supposed to go and spend the day at the Watsons and make Mary laugh and make John swear with his experiments or tales about old cases. He was supposed to give his opinions about baby names and do the dishes after lunch successfully without breaking any plate. Then they would share tea and sponge cake from the shop around the corner.

But he wasn't there. He was on a case, harassing Lestrade's team, doing things he wasn't supposed to do that day.

Why? Sherlock remembered that word which came to his mind the day Mary had her first miscarriage. Destiny. He wasn't meant to be there.

John wasn't able to stand it anymore and ran up the stairs and locked himself inside his old room. Sherlock let him be.

* * *

Very late at night, when Sherlock decided it was for the best to go and get some sleep, John approached him with those red blue eyes and a very hopeless expression on his face.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry if this is... can I - can I sleep with you? Mycroft's men packed my things and my blue duvet but I can't -."

John wasn't able to finish the sentence when a sob came and tears started to flow. Sherlock understood everything and his friend didn't need to say anything. That duvet meant a lot, it had a been a present from his grandfather before going to Afghanistan. Then Sherlock burnt it in a very failed experiment and then he met Mary, who successfully fixed it and that was the moment when everything started.

Mary once told her husband she wanted their child to use it, to sleep and be protected under that worn but still lovely and warm duvet. And John didn't want to use it. He wanted to preserve it, to preserve the touches Mary left on it. He wasn't even able to open the box where it was.

"Yes John, let's get some sleep." Sherlock gestured John his bed and then both men were again lying over that big and comfy mattress, in complete silence and looking at the white and endless ceiling.

Sherlock wondered how a man was able to manage, handle all of this. He never fell in love with someone, he was asexual, he was fine on his own. But John was different. He knew John and he knew his friend needed Mary as every human being needs air. So the detective wondered how John was managing this, her absence, the idea of his own wife dying on the bed they shared and carrying their second unborn child.

Mary wasn't the only thing that filled Sherlock's mind. Mary was expecting their second baby and he remembered she had told him something the last day he saw her. John went to the shops and she told him something that eventually led Sherlock to realise she knew it. Mary knew all along, but she decided to carry on. Somehow, Sherlock thought, Mary knew she was weak, she knew she wasn't going to be able to complete the whole pregnancy stage. He wondered why Mary decided to get pregnant again.

"It was my fault."

"What?"

"Mary insisted she wanted a baby, and I knew she was weak, that her body wasn't going to handle it, I should have told her - I should have told her. But I was selfish. I wanted a son so badly that I kept my fucking mouth shut and I let her die." Sherlock turned his head and looked at his friend. Tears were silently falling down John's cheek and it hurt.

"John, I do not believe in destiny, but I agree some things are bound to happen. And this is one of those things. Maybe it was in your... God's plans," Sherlock shook his head. "I'm sorry, I do not know what to say."

"I'm tired. God, I feel so tired."

John tossed and turned, and Sherlock was now facing his friend's back. He allowed himself to touch John's back with his hand and rubbed it softly.

"Go to sleep John."

It took Sherlock several minutes until he finally could close his eyes. That night, he made a mental note to find out what happened to Mary and help his friend to find some peace.


	5. A Promise

**CHAPTER V:**

**A PROMISE**

The following morning, Sherlock realised John couldn't be left alone. It was sad, but Sherlock had to keep a very cautios eye on John because he knew the widower could kill himself.

It broke Sherlock's heart to know his friend could do it.

The first time Sherlock caught John doing it, it was the day after Mary's death, before the funeral. For security issues, John had trusted Sherlock his own gun when he left Baker Street to live with his girlfriend. Yes, John trusted Sherlock his own gun, and the detective kept it in plain sight and one moment he left John alone, he took the gun and without checking if it was loaded, he pulled the trigger.

Sherlock's greyish eyes were cloudy, full of tears when he saw John's aiming the gun directly over his head and pulling the trigger. And he took it, Sherlock took the gun off John's hand and hide it on his night gown and then he proceeded to slap John. Sherlock slapped John hard across his face and he told him the truth. He told John Mary would be disappointed.

He also knew Mary would be disappointed for him, for not being man enough to help John. Because Sherlock would never forgive himself if something bad happened to his friend. He promised it, he promised Mary the day of the funeral he would take good care of his friend. It did not matter if Mary had not told him, he would take good care of John and he would make himself sure John was going to carry on with his life.

And that they would never forget her. Never.

But this time, John tried to kill himself again.

Sherlock decided he was the one in charge of food. Mrs Hudson handed him some tea and biscuits, sponge cake and some pastries. John was weak, and since Mary's death he refused to eat. He only ate when Sherlock was present and if he was not, he would not eat. And both the landlady and the consulting detective needed and wanted John to recover and feel better soon, if it was possible to do so.

The detective only left to buy some jam at the nearest shop and when he arrived, the flat was silent. He only heard the sound of water falling, and John was not replying to his calls. Sherlock walked to his room and water was coming down the door of his bathroom. He opened it and John was there, naked under the water and on the floor was resting a bottle of pills. It was empty. They were Sherlock's sleeping pills, the ones he had stolen from a chemist a few years ago, for a case.

Sherlock hurried and took John's body out of the bath tub. It took him mere seconds to check on John's fingertips, and he has not been under the water for too long. John was deeply asleep. But he was breathing.

"John, John wake up!" Sherlock slapped John's face a few times, but he didn't wake up. And it was obvious, he had taken the pill.

Thank God there was one pill left on the bottle.

Sherlock took John's motionless body and placed himself behind it, and with all his strength, he stood up, with John's body on his arms. Sherlock pressed the doctor's stomach, unsuccessfully trying to make him vomit the pill, but it was too late, he had swallowed it and it started to work on him.

The widower was breathing, but his friend knew there was water on his lungs.

Sherlock managed to press John's chest and making John roll to one side, he saw how water started to flow out of his lips. He did it until nothing came out of John's mouth.

With extreme care, Sherlock wrapped John's body with a towel and carried him to his bed. It was cold, and Sherlock needed John to be warm, if not, he was surely getting ill. So he managed to dry the doctor's body and dress him with a pair of pants, his pajamas and then he covered him with his thick duvet.

The breakfast had been forgotten on the kitchen table, the newspapers were there, folded waiting to be read, and Sherlock did not care. He only cared for his friend, who was deeply asleep on his bed. His face expressed, even being asleep, the sadness he was experiencing.

Sherlock only wished John could be dreaming about Mary.

* * *

"You wanted to kill yourself." Sherlock asked.

John nodded. There was a huge plate full of risotto and Sherlock was sitting in front of him, with both hands glued together under his chin. The lights of the kitchen were strong on him and the doctor felt as if he were on an interrogatory. They were completely alone, and it was late. He had slept for more than twelve hours and the tiredness had finally disappeared from his body. But his own sadness was still there, haunting him.

"Why."

"You just don't get it, do you?" John shook his head, he was already going to say something he knew was going to hurt Sherlock and he stopped himself. "I can't live without her, Sherlock."

A very short, and hurtful silence was everything between them.

"You miss her."

"I miss her, that's clever Sherlock." The last words were full of sarcasm and Sherlock knew he had to change the route John's words were going. He did not want another nosebleed.

"You just can't proceed to do such inferior activities. You are clever, you are strong John -."

"I'm not strong! If I had been strong, I wouldn't have tried to kill myself - but I did! And now she's dead and I'm here. I'm not clever - I tried to kill myself twice and I failed! Do you still believe I'm clever and strong? Guess what, I'm not!"

John yelled and Sherlock remained still, with both hands glued together under his chin and looking at his friend. He knew John was not going to hit him, but he was sad, therefore, he was still angry. It wasn't going to be easy. For neither of them.

But Sherlock was willing to do everything, everything if it meant John was going to be OK.

"You're not going to eat."

John nodded.

"You already slept the entire day, you are not going to sleep now."

Another nod.

"Take your jacket John." Said Sherlock while getting his own coat and looking for his scarf.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock."

"Air. You need air. Let's go for a walk." The detective handed him his dark jacket and a few minutes later both friends were outside Baker Street.

* * *

The way to Regent's Park was silent, both of them were only walking side by side, with their hands inside their pockets and looking at the streets and the people passing by. It was a lovely night, it was cold, but it was still nice. The stars were shining despite the city's lights and there were few people walking around them. It was calm, a very strangely calm night in one of the busiest cities of the world.

Neither of them wanted to be the one speaking. John was broken, he just tried to kill himself early that day and he failed. He felt embarrassed of himself, he felt stupid and he thought Sherlock was thinking the worst of him. He felt so weak, he was a soldier, he had been a Captain for God's sake! He saw many people being killed, he had to fix people in the middle of gunfire, he had seen the same hell and now he was weak. John wondered why this had to happen to him. Now Mary was gone with their son and John felt like no one needed him in this world.

"I'm going back to my flat tomorrow." Said John fighting tears, "I need to clean the flat and talk to my landlord."

"You can stay in Baker Street, your old room is clean and I haven't done anything that could have destroyed your belongings."

"I was thinking about it, I could go back there, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all. I need my blogger. And Mrs Hudson will be more than pleased, now she will have someone to help her with her yarn balls and her knitting."

John laughed. For the first time since Mary died he laughed. And it was so contagious.

"You were helping her with her knitting? Bet she's dragged you to her knitting club on Friday's night hasn't she?"

"I only went once and it was for a case. Besides, I need you here, John." The widower looked at Sherlock. His friend was walking by his side, but his gaze was on the floor.

"I also need you, Sherlock. If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead by now. I don't know how I will handle this. Mary and that baby were my life and now they are gone." John smiled at Sherlock, sadly, and then continued. "I know I haven't been the best friend lately, I hit you and I made a mess in your bathroom, but I -."

"You have to promise me."

"Promise you?"

"You have to promise me you won't do it again. That you won't try to do such things like you did - Promise me, John."

The doctor looked at Sherlock. His grayish eyes were still red, he had been crying as well. John knew some of his actions, all his actions in fact, had hurt Sherlock. The detective looked as strong as always, but John knew he was as sad as he was. But Sherlock was a good actor, he was managing better than he was.

"I promise."

They were standing outside their door again when John buried his face on his friend's chest and Sherlock hugged him back.


	6. A Life Inside Boxes Part I

**CHAPTER VI:**

**A LIFE INSIDE BOXES PART I**

The following morning Sherlock and John were standing in front of John's old flat and both knew it was not going to be easy.

"Do you want me to -."

"I can do it."

John gave Sherlock a reassuring smile and opened the door. After talking to his landlord, he decided he was leaving the place. John was able to stay for a few days before the rent went off, but he sadly admitted he was not going to be able to stay there, in the same room, in the same bed where Mary died.

To his own and Sherlock's surprise, everything had already been packed. John had his own suspicions Mary's sister had done everything with the help of some of Mycroft's men. And there were boxes everywhere with kitchen tools, their clothes, pictures and photo albums, curtains - everything.

Sherlock was the first going into John and Mary's old room. The windows were closed, and it looked empty. The empty furniture and the bed without the mattress gave the place a very cold sensation. His deductive skills told him Mary's sister and Mycroft's men had to get rid of mattress. According to John, Mary lost a lot of blood, being that one of the main causes of death.

It made him feel, it made Sherlock's chest ache. He had been there before, sleeping between John and Mary when termites invaded Baker Street. Then her second pregnancy confined Mary to stay in bed, and there was Sherlock, sitting next to her, reading, talking, watching telly.

Every place was better if it had John and Mary on it.

"Sherlock, let's get these boxes in the car." John called him from the sitting room and Sherlock nodded to no one and closed the door behind his back.

Mycroft sent a car so they could take John boxes back to Baker Street. Sherlock did as he was told, and he did it without complaining. God, John was so grateful. His friend has been very supportive and kind. It was a new face, a new Sherlock.

John was very grateful for having him as a friend.

"Lunch?"

"Starving." Admitted John.

"Angelo's?"

"I don't really feel like going out, Chinese?"

Sherlock nodded, "I'll get it."

As soon as Sherlock went down to the Chinese restaurant just around the corner, John felt himself alone facing the life he once had, and the same life which now he has stored into boxes. The same life he once conceived, the same life he once thought it was going to be forever his, is now inside boxes.

John opened one box, and he faced Mary's clothes. Mary's shirts, Mary's jumpers, Mary's jeans, Mary's pajamas. Everything was there and he wasn't able to stand it. John couldn't help it and he took out the box a very soft jumper he remembered Mary was wearing the day before dying. He sobbed while pressing the jumper against his chest. John wanted to feel Mary's soft and sweet scent again.

"John? John, are you OK?"

John folded the jumper and placed it back inside the box "Fine. I'm fine."

"Let's go to the kitchen, we can do this later."

"No Sherlock, I have to do this alone, I -."

"John, I'm your friend, and I won't let you do this alone. You need to eat - let's go. I will help."

The widower nodded and left his old room, where his and Mary's things were still waiting for him.

* * *

During lunch John did not talk much. The only one doing it was Sherlock and he talked about how stupid Anderson had been acting lately, how clever Sally was when she got rid of him and how Lestrade talked about Molly.

"You're still jealous, aren't you?"

"No, I am not, and I have never been _'jealous',_ as you say. But he only talks about Molly and how lovely their son is and how tasty her cakes are and -."

"You told me! I remember you telling me they were going to get married, have kids and that Molly would bake him cakes."

John laughed and it was so contagious. Sherlock allowed himself to laugh as well, and he was determined to continue with the conversation, only if it meant John was going to forget his sadness for a moment.

"I'm always right. They invited us for dinner."

"When? I don't really think -."

"Friday night and nonsense. You are going with me, I'm not going to be alone with a toddler and Molly and Lestrade babbling about it."

John nodded.

"Sherlock, do you think I can sleep with you for a couple of days? I need to sort out what I am going to do with those boxes and I can't sleep there, with Mary's things in my room."

For a second or two, Sherlock looked into his friend's eyes and he felt lost. He felt as lost as John was. Mary died taking with her a part of everyone. A part of John and a part of Sherlock's life. The detective nodded, of course he did it and he assured his friend he could sleep next to him for as long as he wanted.

True to be told, Sherlock knew he was feeling something he never felt for no one. He knew if it had been John, he would have felt the same. But Mary, with Mary it was different. Something inside him is missing and Mary Watson took it with her when she died.

Sherlock still needs to know what really happened and how to fix his only and best friend John Watson.


	7. A Life Inside Boxes Part II

**CHAPTER VI:**

**A LIFE INSIDE BOXES PART II**

That night John slept next to Sherlock. And that night, John slept calmly, he didn't have a nightmare and he didn't cry.

Part of John was finally accepting it, accepting the cruel reality that Mary was not coming back. John told Sherlock that night that he knew he would be facing him, and that he would not face Mary anymore.

However, John can't stop there. John needs to move on, he needs to let things go and he needs to go through the process. The emptiness Mary left was not going last forever, he knew it, but for know John can only think how he's going to overcome this, fight his own fears and try to have a life again.

The following morning both men had breakfast in the company of their landlady. It was clear they had been planning everything, because everything was laughs and comments about Sherlock's underwear and sock's index and about his poor skills when it was about cooking and making tea. John laughed as well, Sherlock could be very funny when he really wanted to be, so Mrs Hudson, but the thought and the feeling was still there.

Sherlock decided to help John with the boxes.

John moved one box, closed it with scotch and wrote "clothes" at the top of it.

"What are you going to do with that one?"

John looked down at the closed box "I'll give it to Alice. She'll know what do with the clothes."

"Who's Alice?"

"Mary's sister."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's OK." Said John while opening another box. "Here I have lots of things for the kitchen, do you mind if I move some of these to yours? We'll have more spoons and dishes for your experiments."

Sherlock chuckled. "Sure, I think I'll need those, yes."

After good minutes separating dishes from spoons and forks and glasses, John instructed Sherlock to take a look at the other boxes and write with a sharpie the contents of each one at the top of each box. John was going to give almost everything to charity, and something to Alice, his sister-in-law. He only wanted to keep a few things and nothing else. Inwardly, John wanted to keep everything and live with that, with Mary's clothes next to his, with Mary's photographs everywhere, but life was not going to be easy if he did that. John had several appointments and talks with his therapist to know in moments of loss like this one, he needed to let go of some things.

Sherlock looked into a few boxes, and he only found books, fabrics and all the things Mary used for working. He continued cataloging the boxes until he found one very lost behind the other ones. It was a medium sized box which had baby clothes, a few toys and Mary's jewelry. The detective looked back, and John was deeply lost with a box full of his medical tools, and Sherlock took advantage of that. All the baby clothes were brand new and judging by the date on the labels, those were clothes John and Mary bought together when she was pregnant with their first baby. Then, the toys were also brand new, but those were recent, someone bought them when Mary was pregnant with her second baby. Sherlock frowned. Everything looked so new, so unused and he could see the hopes on those things. Sherlock would sometimes forget dates, people's names, etc. But Sherlock didn't forget Mary and John's hopes to become parents. He was as happy as them, even when he didn't show it.

His grayish eyes moved to a little musical box with Mary's jewelry. It only had two necklaces, a pair of earrings and her wedding ring. Mary was a simple woman, true to herself. And she was clearly a very honest woman as well. That's what Sherlock always liked about her. Mary was firm, she had firm thoughts and she was an understanding person.

But digging into that box, Sherlock found Mary's journal.

It was a very simple brown leather journal with an M engraved on the cover. Looking over his shoulder to see if John was looking, Sherlock opened it on a random page and read the first lines his eyes found.

_"John wants to move out and live with me. I really want to live with him, I really do, but I told him he needs to talk to Sherlock. I fear he might feel alone and I don't want that -"_

"Sherlock have you finished?" Asked John, standing from his place and walking towards Sherlock.

The detective quickly closed the journal and hid it inside his jacket.

"Yes, I've finished."

"I'll go downstairs and make us some lunch."

Sherlock looked around to the already closed boxes. "Have you decided what are you going to do with all this?"

"I'm going to give Mary's clothes and all her fabrics to Alice." Said John while pointing at some boxes. "I've to ask Mrs Hudson about charity places, though."

"I found this."

Sherlock handed John the middle sized box and John smiled sadly.

The widower looked at the brand new baby clothes, the toys and then Mary's jewelry.

"I think I will keep the baby things, someday you'll want to have your family and I'll have those to give it to your wife -."

"Oh John, don't do this again. You know I'm married to my work!" Replied Sherlock, following John's joke.

The doctor laughed and placed the box on the floor.

"Then I think I can give this to charity as well. But I'll keep Mary's wedding ring."

"Sure."

John gave his old room a last look. "I'd better go downstairs and cook us something, you must be starving."

"You can't imagine." Replied Sherlock, mockingly.

As soon as John left the room, Sherlock went to his room and hid Mary's journal. He was going to read it later.

And maybe give it back to John someday.


	8. Mistakes

**CHAPTER VIII:**

**MISTAKES**

"He's so beautiful, Molls. Congratulations." Said John as he caressed the little toddler's blondish head.

It was Friday night and John and Sherlock were visiting Lestrade and Molly. As Sherlock predicted, both parents were babbling about their little son Thomas every time the little boy walked near Sherlock. Tommy, as his parents liked to call him, had a strange fascination for the detective, and he was following him and his long legs every time he walked around the flat.

"He likes you, Sherlock." Said Molly with a very big smile while picking Tommy up from in between Sherlock's feet "Let's go, Tommy, time to sleep, say bye to uncle John and uncle Sherlock!"

Tommy waved his little and chubby hand to both men. John waved his hand eagerly, and he took Sherlock's hand to make him do the same. And the detective reluctantly did so.

"So, how are you guys?" Asked Greg as he poured two glasses and placed them in front of them in the living room.

"Fine, good - we're fine, aren't we, Sherlock?" replied John a bit nervous.

It was the first time he was out of Baker Street after he had packed all his belongings and Mary's and took them away from their flat. John felt very out of place, nervous, almost like an alien. It was so hard to look at people and act like if nothing had happened. But he had to wear a mask, and try to be fine, John knew he couldn't just lock himself within four walls and be alone for ever. He needed to forget, even when it seemed to be impossible to do so, but he needed air, he needed his friends.

John had to thank Sherlock. Without his help, without his words, his silences as well, and without his awful tea John knew maybe he would probably be living in the flat he used to live in with Mary, facing all those good but painful memories. Or maybe he could be dead.

Sherlock twisted his mouth, ready to say something, maybe a deduction when Molly came back and soon his deductive side switched on.

"Lestrade, you brought a good wine, expensive I'd say judging by the way you poured us our glasses, with pride. You haven't got a promotion, though I might admit you deserve one. Your son hasn't got any new teeth, judging by his acceptable behavior, at least he didn't cry this time and you didn't invited us to have dinner just because you consider us close to you both. You have something to say, but you're not so sure to tell us because Molly said it's too early and she needs to wait until she's three months pregnant and -."

Lestrade stopped him as soon as he saw Molly's eyes wide open "OK Sherlock - you got everything right. Yes, Molly is pregnant again."

The D.I. of the Scotland Yard smiled to her wife and Molly gave him a small peck on his cheek. Immediately, John stood up from his place and congratulated the couple with a handshake with Lestrade and a kiss to Molly. Sherlock did the same when John stared at him and gave him a look.

"Well, it's not too early, but I wanted to wait -."

Sherlock cut off Molly "You're ten weeks pregnant."

Lestrade nodded and after a moment in which more congratulations were given, the four people went to the dinning room to have their dinner.

"Sherlock, I have a few cold cases I know you'll like to take a look at. Some are new as well."

The consulting detective nodded as he looked at the food on his plate.

"Tell me, John, are you... err - going to be Sherlock's assistant again? All the chaps miss you, you know." Said Lestrade, a bit insecure about his question.

John only smiled shyly "If this one here wants me to, sure."

"Of course I want you to work with me." Admitted Sherlock and Molly laughed.

The dinner continued with all jokes, some mentions of cases and Molly commenting in how good the recipe she used was.

However, when the four where back on the living room drinking some coffee, they heard a sound coming from Tommy's room.

"Another bad dream I think." Said Molly while placing her cup on the table.

"We have tried everything, but he keeps waking up at this same time and when we ask him about it he says something about a bad dream." Explained Lestrade as he saw Molly off to check on their son.

"He must sense the other baby."

Sherlock turned to look at John. "Can he?"

John nodded "Some say they can. Tell me Greg, When did this start?"

Greg Lestrade closed his eyes, trying to remember. "A week ago, more or less."

"I can take a look at him if you want."

The D.I. nodded and soon John left the living room and walked to Tommy's room. There he found Molly sitting on a chair, with Tommy in her arms, now asleep. The lights were minimal, but yet he could see the room. It had blue walls, the cradle had blue sheets and a green duvet too. There were toys and teddy bears all over the floor and some furniture as well.

"Would you like to hold him?" Asked Molly with a small smile and John hesitated for a moment.

He hadn't held a child on his arms since his years in Med School, and after what happened he felt like if it was something he wasn't allowed to do.

"He won't bite you."

John chuckled and extended his arms to take Thomas. It felt so good to have a little bundle in his arms, sleeping so peacefully, so calmly. John didn't cry, but he felt sad, very sad. Having this baby in his arms, and Molly just in front of him made him imagine that baby was his, and that Molly was Mary. _'My life could have been like this'_, John thought as he placed Thomas' sleepy body on the cradle.

"He's a very healthy boy. You don't need to worry, _Mary_. He's fine." Said John, not realising his mistake.

Molly didn't say anything, she just nodded and then both left the room.

"And as I was saying, I'd love to see you with children, Sherlock." Joked Lestrade when John and Molly returned to the living room and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Then I won't give you the satisfaction. And we'll see you Monday first hour in the morning. Shall we, John?"

John only nodded and both friends left the Hooper-Lestrade's flat and peacefully and quietly walked their way back to their flat. Sherlock was able to look at John and try to deduce his feelings. His hands on his pockets, the way he was walking, how he licked his lips, John was still sad.

Sometimes Sherlock felt like nothing was enough to make John happy again. That made him feel lost, the situation was getting out of his hands and that wasn't good. Sherlock liked to have control over things, to have the tools and the knowledge to fix and understand everything. But this time Sherlock didn't have the tools and the knowledge. And Sherlock felt almost hopeless, and he didn't want to see his friend like this.

Not anymore.

Both quietly made their way to Sherlock's bed. John didn't say a word and turning to his side, he closed his eyes and immediately fell asleep. The one who wasn't able to conceive any sleep was Sherlock.

Making himself sure John was deeply asleep, Sherlock took Mary's journal with him and went to the sitting room to read.

Maybe he would find some solution, some way to help John, his only and best friend.


	9. Confessions

**CHAPTER IX:**

**CONFESSIONS**

Mary Morstan's journal was just like the one a normal and an average woman would have. It was a small brown leather journal, sketchbook, with an M engraved on it. Sherlock's deductions so far revealed it was a present from someone very close, a mother more likely judging by the well-kept leather, which even if it had his years, it looked brand new. It didn't have a sort of lock like some Sherlock had seen before. This one had two nickel roller buckles with two snaps for easy opening. Two hundred sheets, four hundred pages and all of them were written.

No doubt Mary's diary was inviting him, calling Sherlock. If his mind ever had voices, that night Sherlock heard two. It was strange, he could hear John's audible snoring coming from his own room, so Sherlock knew he was safe to open it and read it. One voice was telling him to do it, to read it and unlock Mary Morstan's mind and understand what happened, what was inside Mary's head when they were alone and she confessed him she couldn't bear more children, that the doctors warned her not to get pregnant. But another voice told Sherlock not to do it, to give it back to the man who should be the owner, to John.

It took Sherlock several minutes in which he kept his position on the sofa, hands glued together under his chin and his eyes fixated on the journal lying on the table in front of him.

The detective entwined his long fingers on the two buckles and opened the journal.

On the first page, Sherlock found several papers written with Mary's recognizable neat handwriting. Most of them were bills, random notes, addresses, some old medical notes, a picture of her with her sister Alice in Manchester. Sherlock also found old calendars with some dates marked, and he obviously knew those were the kind of calendar women kept to control their periods and so on. Looking at them, Sherlock realised Mary was a very cautious woman, not only taking care of her menstrual cycles, but also there were old medical notes and prescriptions written by a gynecologist. The oldest one, belonged to the days she was already dating John, and Mary has been prescribed with birth control pills. As Sherlock looked at recent calendars and recent medical controls, he noted Mary changed the prescriptions and her periods were almost non existent.

There was a prescription dated a few days after she and John got married, and it suggested Mary stopped taking those birth control pills. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, he didn't need to be a detective and a genius to know John and Mary had been trying for a baby since they got married. And this was not a new concept based only on the notes or calendars, but because Sherlock knew John was broody. His friend had been always broody, and he told this to Sherlock in one of their afternoons together sharing tea or maybe after a case.

But there wasn't anything else. No more prescriptions, no more calendars nor notes. The last thing Sherlock looked at was the first page of the diary which was dated two days after they arrived in Manchester looking for her to fix John's blue duvet, the one Sherlock ruined.

Sherlock made himself sure John was still sleeping and started reading.

_May, 7th._

_My mum gave me this diary before dying and told me to start using it when I felt something good, new and exciting happened to me. So I've been keeping this diary next to my bed for years, closed, unused until today, because two days ago I met two amazing men._

_A few days ago I received a call from London, apparently a man had a duvet and he needed to have it fixed and he wanted me to do it. I have to admit it was strange and I had my own suspicions, why someone from London would come here? And why me? I told him he could come whenever he wanted, but he insisted on coming on Saturday. Another thing I have to admit, is that I practically fell in love with that man. His voice was deep and I practically melted every time I picked up the phone of our shop and he was on the other end. I was lucky because he called several times, sometimes to make himself sure I was going to be able to fix his duvet, sometimes to know if the shop would be open on Sunday. Sometimes he was quite insisting, but it was fine. I couldn't really wait to meet him._

_I was wearing my best dress and shoes. Alice didn't say anything, she was too concentrated on sewing a few clothes to say something about my clothes. But Mr Holmes, the man from London, haven't arrived so I left the shop and went to pick up some flowers from Mrs Trotter's little shop. I wanted our shop to be nice and clean._

_But when I arrived, I walked on someone and fell to the floor. All the flowers were on the floor when I met a blond and very nice man named John Watson. Soon the famous Mr Holmes appeared and offered his hand to me, and told me his name was Sherlock Holmes._

_I have to be honest, I liked Sherlock. He's very tall and he has strange eyes. I couldn't really look into them to make myself sure if they are green or blue, or gray maybe, but he's very handsome. He has dark curls and he's strange. I could see him looking around the shop and over me from head to toes, like looking for something, like if he were observing and not simply looking. But the other man, John, he's very nice too. He's short, a bit taller than me, he has blond hair and blue eyes. He has the loveliest smile I've ever seen._

_Sherlock showed me the damaged duvet and and asked me if I could fix it. I had some old fabrics which belonged to my grandmother, and the damage was minimal, of course I could do it. Strangely enough, John's grandfather bought the duvet to my grandmother. Sherlock said looking at the label and later at the Internet, he found about me and the shop. It was weird, Alice told me they seemed to be nice people, so I invited them to my sewing room. While I was sewing the duvet, Sherlock and I talked lots. He told me about his detective business and about London. He's a very clever man, and I really like him. But John didn't talk much, and he seemed to be shy or something like that. I could see they exchanged a few looks, and then I thought they were a couple._

_I invited them to stay with me and Alice and have dinner. They told us they were flat-mates and that they were spending the night in the city and asked us if we knew some nice hotel. Well, I couldn't let them pay for an hotel when Alice and I live in a big house alone, right? We have a guests room and two spare bed, so I told them they could stay. John said no, but Sherlock said yes. Alice agreed without saying much._

_Today I woke up early, and I found Sherlock alone in the kitchen. I blushed a bit, I'm not good when it comes about men and relationships, but I felt comfortable around him. I was making some coffee when he told me about John's birthday. I told him I could bake a cake and he told me his friend would appreciate it. John woke up later, and I gave him a kiss and a hug. He looked surprised and then he blushed._

_Sherlock told me I was talented, and that I should move to London. I blushed, he seemed to have... faith in me. I don't know how to explain it. I admitted I'm not that good, because to be honest, I'm only an amateur. But then he started to say a lot of things I never told him about, about the shop, about my grandmother and her predictions that I'd find the love of my life in London. I think I was red from head to toes, but I told him what I really thought, that he was brilliant and amazing._

_He said he had a spare ticket and he invited me to go with them. John looked quite confused, and when I looked at Alice, she told me she could take care of the shop. I know she will. So we left Manchester, the three together. John seemed to be quite entertained with the landscapes. But Sherlock was excited, as excited as me. He told me lots about his work as consulting detective, and he also explained to me how he deduced everything about me and my grandmother by simply observing._

_We arrived very late, and I had some money I've been saving, but he told me I could stay at his place as much as I wanted to. He introduced me to his landlady, she's very lovely. Mrs Hudson, that's her name, she thought I was with him. I only laughed and Sherlock didn't say anything._

_John made some tea later, but he didn't talk to me. He only smiled a bit and nothing else. Sherlock was the one who talked and talked. It was a relief, because I didn't want to feel like an intruder. I guess I thought they were together and maybe John was jealous, but Mrs Hudson's comment suggested they were friends. Later Sherlock offered me his room and John looked at him hurt. I don't really know what I should think._

_I'm lying on Sherlock's bed now while I write this. Tomorrow morning I'll go out and look for a good and cheap place to stay._

_When I was a little girl, mum told me diaries were private and that I could write everything I wanted, because no one would read it, and that I could write how I felt. Well, I feel happy, and I feel like I really like Sherlock._

_Mary._

_..._

Sherlock closed the diary and sighed. He let a hand ran over his dark curls, just as he remembered Mary did sometime. He closed his eyes, recalling those days Mary wrote about. Sherlock really doesn't know if he should keep on reading Mary's diary or not. Sherlock doesn't know if he should give John the diary or not.

Sherlock doesn't know what to think and how he should feel about Mary's words.


	10. Blind

**CHAPTER X:**

**BLIND**

Curiosity always gets to people.

And Sherlock wasn't the exception.

The following entries on Mary's journal were boring and mundane. Mary wrote about people Sherlock didn't even know, about the lovely landlord who rented a tiny but comfy flat when she started living in London, some girls she met at the gym and the sewing courses she had attended to. But some other entries were entirely dedicated to him and John. But Sherlock had to admit most of those entries were mostly about him.

There were a few lines dedicated to Sherlock, in which Mary wrote about the day she rented that little shop and started her own business.

...

_May, 20th  
_

_"Today I opened the shop. I wasn't expecting many people coming, I'm new here, London is big, I'm sure there must be other people better than me. I sent a text to Mrs Hudson, Sherlock and John telling them about it, but later I realised it sounded like if I was desperate, I don't know. Sherlock arrived a few hours later with a bag full of clothes. Trousers, shirts, jackets, all of them were not so damaged, but Sherlock insisted he wanted to have them repaired because his work as a consulting detective required him to be impeccably dressed not only for clients but also to run along the runs wearing a pair of YSL trousers!  
_

_"...It didn't take me long until I finished. Then I ironed most of them, I didn't have anything else to do, to be honest. Sherlock's clothes smell just like him, like the perfume he always wears. _

_"...He later came with John to pick up his clothes. John apologised for his behaviour, but I wasn't angry, I was very happy to help him and to finally sew something. Sewing is like a little addiction of mine. Sherlock wanted to give me one hundred pounds for four trousers, five shirts and three jackets but that was far too much money! I barely had to use my sewing machine! I insisted I couldn't accept his money because it was far too much and because I owed him, he let me stay at his flat when I came here. But before I was able to say something else, he placed the money on my hands and told me he preferred me to keep the money instead of giving it to John, who would surely use it to buy ugly stuffed animals to his girlfriends. I laughed a lot, maybe more than the situation required, but Sherlock smiled and John was completely red._

_"John asked me if I needed help with anything, if I was comfortable at my new flat, if the place was safe, etc. I like John, he's so nice, kind and sweet. I told him I was fine, that the only thing I needed were more clients. Sherlock said he could help me with that, because he knew people who owned him favours. I shook my head, I didn't want to impose, I mean... I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself, but Sherlock assured me I was going to have work."_

_Mary.  
_

_...  
_

The entry ended there, and Sherlock was confused. He was able to remember, to recall those days, and that particular day he went to Mary's little shop and left a big bag with clothes he liked and he needed to have them repaired. But what Sherlock couldn't remember was Mary's position, her intentions, the intentions she wrote about, which somehow he ignored. Even though Mary never mentioned it explicitly, there were intentions. How blind he was? Sherlock admitted he was completely stupid, blind. He should have realised it, he should have seen it and he didn't.

The following pages were pointless. Mary wrote about her clients and the jobs she had, the sewing courses she wanted to go, some visits she paid to her sister, the days she came to London, etc. But there was a new entry in which Mary wrote about the first time Sherlock included her on one of his cases. It wasn't a long entry, but Sherlock was curious.

_August, 15th_

_I'm very tired, but I can't really go to bed before writing this down. I know I will forget all the details by tomorrow! Today I was closing the shop when Sherlock sent me a text asking me to go to Angelo's, and he also sent me an address. Angelo's was a little Italian restaurant a few streets away from the shop and from my flat. As soon as I arrived I found Sherlock sitting alone on a table next to the window. I hope I wasn't all red, but as I wrote once, I'm not that good when it comes about men and relationships._

_ Anyway, I though we were alone, but soon John joined us. And a man came to our table and told Sherlock we could ask for whatever we wanted, that anything was on him. When Sherlock introduced me, the man confused me and thought I was John's date. I laughed, John was red and Sherlock told me we could eat. _

_John was silent, he always is when I'm around and that makes me think he doesn't like me or maybe he's just shy, I don't really know. Sherlock on the other hand, talked lots. He told me I should definitely raise the prices because I was asking for little money and my job is worthy of more. He never stops to amaze me. He's incredibly supportive, always. _

_But when we finish dinner, he told us we could walk a bit. The three of us were walking along a not so nice part of the city. I was walking between them when Sherlock told me he needed me to do something for him. I told him I could do anything for him because I owed him. John looked at me weirdly and Sherlock told him he wasn't going to ask for anything a bit not good. Then I realised it sounded like a sexual proposal but, can you believe it? Sherlock asked me to act as if I were John's girlfriend! I have to admit I wanted Sherlock to play that bit, but he quickly explained that the man who he was looking for already knew him and that he was investigating the case. So what I had to do is to walk holding John's hand and act as if we were together. _

_We chatted about things and pretended we were together. Sherlock told us to do it as realistic as we could, because apparently the suspect liked to attack couples and then kill them. I wasn't afraid, maybe I should have been, but I wasn't. I knew john had been on the Army and Sherlock promised us he was going to follow us and do something if eventually we got attacked, and apparently the police was arriving to the place. _

_While walking John told me I should have said no and go back home. I told him I felt safe with his company and also because Sherlock assured us we were going to be OK. A few minutes after walking in circles along the streets I could feel John tightening his grip on my hand. A man was following us! I felt so excited, like if I was on a kind of action film or something like that. But the man behind us ran and tried to push John to the floor, but John already had a gun in the back of his trousers and he shot at the air only to frighten the attacker. I was paralyzed, I thought it was going to be easy, but when I saw John pointing at that man with a gun, I fainted. I felt a stupid when I woke up and John was checking on my pulse. He told me Sherlock caught the bad guy and that he was at the Yard. _

_We went back to Angelo's, and Sherlock arrived later. He told us how he deduced the bad guy was going to attack and he complained lots about the people at the Yard. I had my camera on my bag so I asked them if I could have a picture, it was our first case after all! I asked Angelo if he could take a picture and he said yes, he took several, he was quite excited!  
_

_Before we left the restaurant, John offered to take me home to check I was fine. I asked him if he wanted a cup of tea and he accepted. We talked lots about cases and when he was about to leave, he asked me if I wanted to go to the cinema with him in a few days. I said yes, I mean, I like John, he's am amazing friend and I know we will have fun._

_If only Alice was here! I know she would say John fancies me!_

_Mary._

_..._

There was the picture Angelo took for Mary. It was glued at the end of that entry. Mary was sitting between them, and she had her arms around their shoulders. John was flushing, and Mary and Sherlock were smiling. The detective blinked once or twice, Mary's head was slightly inclined towards Sherlock's side. Her hand, her fingers strongly pressed against the detective's shoulder, whilst the fingers which were on John's shoulder were loose.

It was all written on her face, and yet, Sherlock never saw it. He never saw it and he asks himself why, why he was blind, why he never looked at Mary and deduced she liked him.

Sherlock closed the diary and glanced at the flat. He was able to hear John's snoring, but besides that sound, the entire flat was silent. It was three a.m, and Sherlock knew he wasn't going to be able to go to bed and conceive any sleep. Mary's diary had changed everything about him, everything, all he used to think and believe about Mary Morstan. He considered himself an expert when it was about Mary. Sherlock thought he knew her completely, well, not as much as John knew her, but he had been able to read her from the first time he say her until the end, until the day he left John's flat and kissed her good bye. But his world has changed, Mary's words changed everything he could have know about her.

Fear, nervousness, Sherlock had a mix of feelings inside his chest. He really didn't know how he should feel, what he should think, and mostly important, he didn't know how he was going to tell John about this, if he should give him the diary. How do you face a friend after reading such words?

But Sherlock considered he was thinking ahead, that he had to read more and make himself sure it was only a stage Mary went through. That there was a day in which she changed her mind and John was her everything and the man she wanted to be with. And Sherlock was one hundred percent sure that day existed, and that Mary had written about it. If not, she wouldn't have accepted John's marriage proposal, she wouldn't have been with John for so many years and she wouldn't have bore his babies.

Yes, Sherlock was convinced he shouldn't been thinking and assuming things. That wasn't him. He was a rational, clever and a genius. There must surely be more entries about John, only about him and Sherlock's name is probably non existent.

...

_December, 17th_

_Yesterday I was at the shop giving one of my client's dresses the last touch when Sherlock arrived bringing some coffee with him. I didn't have much to do, so I really appreciated his company. He told me John was working and that he was bored and that he completely preferred to look at me sewing ugly dresses instead of shooting at Mrs Hudson's walls. I understand that he says ugly because he's different to other people. He later offered me his apologies and I told him I knew how he was, and that he shouldn't apologise. Before he left he asked me to have dinner with him at Angelo's. I guess I don't need to explain how happy I was. I really like Sherlock and thinking he might reciprocate my feelings makes me feel like a teenager again. _

_But when I arrived at the time he asked me to, I saw John sitting at the usual table, the one close to the window. He told me Sherlock asked him to go as well and we waited and waited until Sherlock texted John saying he wasn't going to make it, and that he was working with Lestrade on a very domestic case. I was disappointed but I successfully managed to keep it to myself. We had salad and wine. I had far too many glasses of wine, because I can't really remember what we talked about, the only thing I know is that John came here and we kissed. I guess I was too lonely and too drunk, and he was drunk as well.  
_

_I feel terribly bad, I shouldn't have done that, I consider John a friend, a very good one. I wish I had kissed Sherlock instead of John._

_I don't really know what I'm going to do._

_Mary._

...

_December, 20th_

_I'm going to the movies this afternoon. John asked me out and I said yes. I couldn't say no, I think I owe him after what happened the other day. I feel like a bad person, I shouldn't have kissed him. _

_Sometimes I think I should give John a chance. I like him, he's very nice, a gentleman, a very honest, sincere person. And he has the loveliest smile I've ever seen. I guess he beats Sherlock's. _

_There are moments in which I think what I feel for Sherlock is something fleeting, a crush maybe. But only teenagers have crushes, and I'm not a teenager anymore._

_I hope everything will be good tonight._

_Mary._

...

_December, 21th_

_John told me he likes me. And he asked me if I could give him a chance._

_I said yes, and we kissed again._

_Mary._

...

_December, 22th_

_John came to the shop today. He told me he doesn't want to push me into a relationship, but he really wanted to get to know me better. _

_I said yes._

_Mary._

...

_December, 24th_

_I'm spending Christmas Eve at John and Sherlock's. Alice is spending Christmas and New Year days at his boyfriend's, so I'm stuck here in London. I don't feel like 'stuck', actually. John, Sherlock and Mrs Hudson are very nice people. And I think it's a bit early to spend a Christmas with a man I've been dating for a few days now, but I don't care._

_I like John, he's very sweet. I don't know if I should call him my boyfriend, we have been dating for a few days, but he's amazing. I'm still feeling the same, I still like Sherlock. My wish for next year is to get over him._

_Mary._

...

_December, 25th_

_It was the funniest Christmas this year! Mrs Hudson cooked a very tasty roasted chicken and I prepared my best dessert: apple pie. Everyone liked it, including Sherlock who ate three slices! Mrs Hudson says he usually avoids pantries and cakes, but this time he ate it and he even told me it was delicious. I hope I wasn't blushing too much._

_John gave me a nice scarf, I really liked it. Sherlock said it was the most boring present ever, and when John asked him what present he had for me, Sherlock said he didn't have the time for such mundane things._

_I gave John a nice jumper, I know he likes them lots so I bought him a blue one. I got Mrs Hudson a nice purple dress and she said she loved it. And I got Sherlock A pair of black leather gloves. He said he really needed them and he thanked me. _

_Trying very hard to look at John as I look at Sherlock._

_Mary._

...

_January, 7th_

_I've been so busy lately! A theater company hired me to do all the costumes and dresses for a period drama play. No one can't imagine how busy I was, I had to design and sew like thirty dresses and suits! But all that effort worthed, because now lots of people are coming to my shop._

_Yesterday was Sherlock's birthday. I visited Mrs Hudson after I finished sewing all those dresses. She was baking a cake and that's when she told me it was Sherlock's birthday. She also confessed me he was alone for the day because John had to go to Leeds because his sister was ill or something like that. John never talked about his sister, so I don't really know what had happened to her._

_Poor Sherlock, he was sitting alone on his chair, staring at the ceiling and pressing two nicotine patches on his arm. He seemed to be happy when I told him I could stay with him, only if he wanted me to do so. I wished him a very happy birthday and I gave him a hug. He hug me back. _

_We played cards and Cluedo, he's extremely funny! It's like every day I discover something new about him. Then I made lunch for us and we spent a good time talking and he explained his experiments to me. I always wonder if he knows, if he has realised what I feel, the way I look at him, I don't know. I guess if he knew he would told me._

_Mrs H's cake was so tasty. We sang Sherlock a happy birthday song despite his complaining. As I didn't know it, I guess I'm getting him a present tomorrow. _

_John texted me saying he's coming in a few days, and apparently he has to sort some things out for his sister. _

_Mary._

...

_January, 29th_

_Yesterday John and I went out. We had a nice dinner and then we came here. We kissed and eventually the kisses became deeper and deeper and we did it. _

_I'm ashamed of myself. Ashamed for thinking in someone else while I was with John._

_John was a very good lover, but I couldn't stop thinking about someone else._

_See? I can't even write his name._

_Mary._

...

_February, 15th_

_I was having a normal chat with John when the Sherlock topic arose. I didn't want to talk much about him, I try to avoid talking about him. But John said Sherlock never dated anyone. That apparently someone once implied he was a virgin and that he was asexual. _

_I told John it was a pity, because Sherlock was a really good person. He certainly deserves someone who loves him. He agreed._

_There are still a few times I think about him when I'm with John. It becomes so hard to look at Sherlock without thinking about it. __I'm so ashamed of myself. I feel like I'm cheating on John, and he doesn't deserve it._

_Mary._


	11. Quiet

**Author's note: Thank you so much for the reviews! Please, keep them coming!**

* * *

**CHAPTER XI:**

**QUIET**

It was half past eight when he heard John in the kitchen, doing breakfast, still on his pyjamas. Sherlock looked at his blond hair, messy, thick. The wrinkles around John's eyes, on his forehead. The way he prepared tea, the way he liked to eat his toasts. Sherlock looked at everything concerning his friend, but he couldn't look at his eyes.

Sherlock wasn't able to meet John's eyes._  
_

"You haven't sleep at all, have you?"

The detective was still on his place on the sofa. He had Mary's diary behind his back. "No, I haven't."

John handed him a cup and sat on his armchair. "Do I snore that much? Mary used to tell me she couldn't sleep some nights. Sorry,"

In no time had John said her name, Sherlock bit his lip. At least now John was able to talk about Mary without crying or without looking lost, hopeless and helpless. Now it seemed he was accepting the fact she was not coming back, that she was dead. But Sherlock was now the one who couldn't stand her memories, the memories John had and sometimes talked about. Knowing there was something else, something he had ignored for so long is what made Sherlock don't want to hear anything about her.

"It wasn't for your snoring,"

"Do you want me to go to sleep to my room? Because I can. I think I need to move on, and you certainly need your bed back," said John, calmly, studying the detective's face for a moment.

Sherlock didn't reply immediately. If John was going back to his old room, he could have all the privacy he needed to keep on reading Mary's diary, if that was something he could do. But it have only days since she died, and maybe John needed to be with him, and not in his room upstairs with the blue duvet he once burned, and then Mary fixed.

Maybe John needed to move on.

"You can sleep there as long as you want." Sherlock decided to leave it up to John.

"I will sleep on my bed tonight. I realised I can't need you forever. This will - I need to move on. I mean," John looked as Sherlock glanced at him, and he was sure the detective wasn't quite understanding what he really wanted to say. "I won't be dating any woman any time soon. What I mean is that I can't depend on you. I miss her lots, you know,"

"Mmm,"

John was about to get up, maybe have a shower and face the world again when he looked at Sherlock, who was still sitting on his spot on the sofa, with his back glued to a pillow and still holding his tea. The detective was looking at the window, absently.

"Are you OK, Sherlock?"

"What? Yes, why wouldn't I be?"

John shook his head. "Just asking. Want to go out and walk for a bit? We can grab a bite somewhere,"

"Maybe."

* * *

They were walking side by side. They had walked several streets, silently when John asked him if he minded going to the park to sit, because apparently his legs were aching and he was tired.

They sat together on a nice bench and looked at the people passing by, going from one place to another, some of them calmly walking, some others running. It was a Saturday, and John couldn't help but admire the parents walking with their children, their babies. He smiled to a boy when he threw his football ball close to them. John stood up and kicked it softly, and the boy waved his hand.

John pulled out his mobile phone and went through his texts. "Alice texted me early. She said she has already taken care of Mary's shop. She also said she will send me a box with a few things Mary had there, some pictures and I don't know what else,"

Sherlock didn't say anything about that.

"You're very quiet today. Are you sure you're OK?"

"I'm fine."

After a moment of silence John laughed. "We used to come here, on Saturdays, when I wasn't working. Mary always complained for my working schedule. Now I think she was right, I should have worked less and stay at home with her, you know," John ran a hand over his hair. "Do you miss her, Sherlock?"

"What?"

"If you miss her,"

Sherlock couldn't face John, so instead of looking at him, he kept looking at the children playing football a few meters away from them. "I miss her. She was a friend,"

"She really loved you lots. I remember she liked to visit you and Mrs Hudson on the Saturdays I couldn't take her out because I had to work."

Sherlock closed his eyes, remembering those Saturdays in which Mary would go and make him some lunch and then she would help Mrs Hudson with her knitting, or sewing a few things for her. The landlady told him one he treated Mary as a maid, but Mary assured them she liked to cook for him. After John's words, Sherlock realised it was because Mary didn't have anyone to take care of. Mary was the typical woman who would cook and keep a house clean for her husband. She was the kind of woman who liked to be pretty for her husband, try new recipes, cook and surprise the hubby with it.

"What did you do together? She always told me she helped Mrs Hudson with her knitting and that you two chatted and watched telly -"

"Why are you asking?" asked Sherlock, using a tone he maybe shouldn't have used with John.

John looked at him confused. "I just wanted to know. You don't need to talk about it if you -"

"She cooked. Mary... she cooked different things so I could have them on the fridge, so if I was hungry the only thing I needed to do was to put them into the microwave. She would," Sherlock chuckled, remembering those days. "She would help me to think, sometimes."

John smiled at his friend, sincerely. "Mary loved cooking,"

John immediately changed the subject and soon both friends decided they were really hungry. They stopped at a very nice place and had a pleasant lunch. John decided he was going back to work the following Monday and Sherlock told him he would take a break from cases. It was weird, very rare, but Sherlock didn't feel like chasing criminals, or putting up with annoying and boring clients.

But as soon as they arrived at Baker Street, a small box was already waiting for them. Alice had had the box sent to their flat and there was also a note, explaining she was going back to Manchester and that she was going to be in touch, that they were family and if he needed anything, he could phone her or visit her.

Sherlock decided John needed to do it alone, that he needed to open that box, look at those pictures alone and have his own moment. But a part of Sherlock didn't want to be there. He didn't want to look at those pictures. He was tired, and the only thing he wanted was to rest his head on a pillow, close his eyes and forget there was a Mary Morstan who once felt something for him, who married his friend and who died days ago. Mostly important, Sherlock wanted to forget he once ignored facts. Facts that are now written on a diary, on a journal. On Mary's journal.

A few hours later he woke up alone on his bed. John was nowhere to be seen, so the detective deduced, knew, his friend was already sleeping on his own bed, upstairs.

He went to the kitchen to have a glass of water when something caught his eye. There was a bunch of photographs on the table. Sherlock looked at the first one. It was an old picture of Mary and him at her shop. They were sitting together, and Mary was holding the camera.

She was resting her head over his shoulder.

And both were genuinely smiling.


	12. What do I feel

**Notes:  
****Thanks for the reviews and support! Sorry for any mistake, and please, review! **

* * *

**CHAPTER XII:**

**WHAT DO I FEEL**

Two weeks later Sherlock found himself unable to read Mary's diary. He had only read a few pages, but he stopped when Mary wrote she felt pity for him, and that she felt as if she was cheating on John every time she thought about him.

That night in which he woke up and found those pictures on the kitchen table Sherlock felt helpless. There were something like twenty pictures of Mary and him, both in her shop. In some of them both were doing faces, in some others they were simply smiling or doing nothing. There were also pictures of Sherlock staring at nothing, looking absent, which clearly meant Mary had took the photos. In some others she was sewing, or simply tidying up the shop, which meant Sherlock was the one taking the photos.

Mary loved to take photographs. She would take several and then she would print them and glue them to a wall she had in her shop. Sherlock remembered that wall. Mary used to have lots of pictures with her sister, pictures with John, pictures with her friend and pictures of herself with Sherlock. Why he never realised, thought about it? Why he never asked himself why Mary took photographs of him, why she was the only woman who made him smile for a camera?

What did I feel? Sherlock asked himself once.

The following morning John told Sherlock he should be the one keeping those photos, because those pictures were Sherlock's, not his. _"Those are your memories"_ Sherlock remembered John saying. He was right, those pictures were memories of their afternoons together, when the criminal classes seemed to have taken the day off, and Mrs Hudson's walls weren't an option. Mary was alone working, sometimes dealing with boring and pedestrian clients and noisy teenagers who wanted their prom dresses to be perfect. But despite all that mundane things in which Mary was usually involved, Sherlock always found something amusing. Mary was funny and clever, she understood when he said something John would catalog as something a bit not good. She liked to hear about his cases, about Lestrade's insufferable team and about things maybe she never understood.

There was a particular picture Sherlock didn't know why John never asked for. It was a picture of them, Sherlock and Mary, he was smiling. She had an arm around his shoulders and she was kissing his cheek. They were having dinner at Angelo's, and the owner of the restaurant had been the one taking that photo after Mary asked him. The detective knew every man would have asked for it, would have asked for explanations: _What were you doing with my wife? Why was she kissing you? Why did you take her out? Who do you think you are? I'm his husband._ But no, John never asked that. Sherlock knew John wasn't that kind of man, but inwardly, Sherlock wanted to be asked. He wanted John to ask him and wonder why they were together those nights in which sometimes both forgot John Watson existed.

And that was a lot not good.

There were afternoons in which Mary wouldn't have much to do, but she seemed to be sad, miserable. Every time Sherlock asked, she replied she didn't sleep well, she would also say John snored too much, or she would simply say she was tired. Sherlock would invite her out to have dinner, and she would accept. They used to go to Angelo's and have pasta and wine and talk about a lot of things until it made sense, or until Sherlock realised she was tipsy and that he'd better take her back to her and John's flat before things got worse. Mary wasn't a drinker, but every time she got tipsy she would start laughing about everything, about Sherlock's wild curls, about how foggy the weather was and about the stupid neighbors she had. Those nights he walked her to her flat and he would make himself sure Mary was already sleeping on her bed and then he would leave.

The following morning he would go back to Mary's flat with coffee for the mild hangover Mary had. It surprised Sherlock to see John never arrived at the time he said he would, and Mary only said John had to stay longer. They would have breakfast, and then Sherlock would go to the Yard and Mary to her shop.

Those were their memories. Memories of days John never knew about, he never asked and Sherlock knew Mary never told him.

It was a month since Mary's death when John told Sherlock he was more than welcome to go with him.

"I'll go later," replied Sherlock from her place in the sofa, staring at the endless ceiling without blinking.

"OK, well. I'm going to work, so I will come back late, alright?"

"Mmm."

"If you happen to be hungry, there's some risotto on the fridge -"

"I'm not a child."

John looked at Sherlock for a moment, and opened his mouth to say something and then he shook his head. "Fine. Err, have a good day."

John left Baker Street holding two white roses, Mary's favourites. Sherlock wanted to visit her grave, he haven't been there since the day she was buried and even when he felt like he needed to go, like he needed to visit her and leave some flowers, he couldn't.

Sherlock knew he was suffering as if he was the widower. He was supposed to be helping John, he was supposed to rescue him from pubs, completely drunk, sad, crying and missing Mary. He was supposed to be holding John's hand this first anniversary, reassuring him everything was going to be fine. But all the opposite, John was not drinking, he was working again, he was laughing at some crappy show on telly... He seemed to be fine. Sherlock knew John still missed her, that he still loved her, but John was nothing like Sherlock thought he would be.

Everyone seemed to be OK, everyone but Sherlock.

Curiosity was taking him. Sherlock had Mary's diary on his bedside table, inside one of the drawers he could lock, where John would never lay a finger on, where John would never find it.

He had to read more.

After the last entry Sherlock read, February 15th, Sherlock found Mary didn't write anything until several months later.

_September, 16th_

_I was having dinner with John when he suggested we could move together. I almost choked, I never expected him to ask me that. I never thought this was going to be long term. To be honest, I started dating John because I felt pity for him, because I kissed him when I was drunk, I was lonely and so was he, and Sherlock would have never look at me as I look at him. But John started to be serious about us, and I thought I could give him a chance. It will be a year soon, and I've learned to love him. I love him more than a friend would do, but maybe not as much as he loves me._

_He said he had seen a very nice flat a few streets away from Baker Street. I told him to think about it carefully, because I didn't want him to leave Sherlock. John had told me about his past with drugs and about his mood swings. I don't want him to feel alone, it wouldn't be fair. I don't want him to feel upset, or like I'm taking his friend away from him. John says I'm wrong, that he's a grown man and that he can take care of himself. He even said if I was so worried, I could move with him and Sherlock. He was joking, but even if he wasn't, I wouldn't have agreed. It's hard to love John and forget my other feelings, I can't imagine what would it be of me if I move with them._

_Mary._

_..._

_October, 1st_

_John told me he talked to Sherlock and that he reacted quite well after he told him he was moving with me, that he was happy and that he wished him the best._

_We're moving next week!_

_Mary._

_..._

_November, 27th_

_I haven't written a word in almost two months! I moved out with John. The flat is quite nice, it has one bedroom, a kitchen, a little sitting room, a bathroom and a little balcony. John said it was very little, but I love it. It's perfect, just perfect._

_After we moved, I asked John to visit Sherlock every now and then, to check he's eating, that he's doing the shopping and that he's keeping Mrs Hudson's flat in order. Sometimes I visit him and we go to Tesco and buy supplies and food. It's a secret between us because John says he has to deal with his life alone and by himself, but Sherlock can't even buy bread, to be honest. I love those days when we go to do the shopping, I like to see people looking at us and think we are a couple when we are only friends._

_Mary._

_..._

_December, 15th_

_Today Sherlock visited me at my shop. We were having lunch together when he told me he was leaving London. I laughed because he loves London, I know it. But he said he's going away for a long time._

_When he left, he asked me to take care of John. We hug and then he just left._

_Mary._

_..._

_December, 17th_

_John went to visit Sherlock and Mrs Hudson told him he was away. Mycroft told us he left to China and I don't remember where else._

_I guess I have to take advantage of this, and focus on John. I need to get over Sherlock._

_Mary._

_..._

Sherlock stopped reading when he remembered his trip to China and India. He wanted to improve his fighting skills and clear his mind, travel, investigate and know more of the world where he lived. He left for almost a year and when he came back, he found out John had proposed to Mary and that they were getting married.

He was able to recall how happy Mary was when he came back, and how surprised John was when he told him why he left.

The detective read a few more entries, most of them were about her work, about John and about every day things. But Sherlock was interested in reading the entry Mary wrote after he was back. He wanted to read what she had written.

Sherlock wanted to know if she was still interested in him.

_December, 1st_

_Today Sherlock was back. We were having dinner with John when someone rang the bell and it was Sherlock. I was so happy to see him. He was just as I remember. He haven't changed since I last saw him._

_He told us about his adventures, about the time he solved a case in China and about the new things he learned._

_I feel different. I really like John, and after a year without Sherlock, I've started to say "I love you" honestly. There's no moment in which I don't think about John. I enjoy every moment we are together and when I saw Sherlock today, I couldn't look at him as I used to._

_I used to look at him and melt inside. I really liked to hug him, to kiss his cheek and tell him how clever he was, but today I hardly did any of that. He's just a friend._

_I'm so happy he's back._

_Mary._

_..._

Sherlock stopped reading. He felt relieved. The detective felt relieved because he knew it, he knew Mary had got over him, that there was a day in which she wrote she only loved the man with blond hair, blue eyes and medals because he fought in war. She was supposed to get over him, and forget him.

But he also had pictures of them together, being happy as friends, even though Mary loved him more than a friend would do. And he also had a diary in which Mary wrote she loved John and that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him.

A part of Sherlock felt empty.


	13. Next to you

**CHAPTER XIII:**

**NEXT TO YOU**

Sherlock fell every now and then into moments, days, weeks in which he wouldn't care the less and he would only wander around the flat on his pajamas, sometimes he wouldn't eat even if John begged him to. The detective even stopped taking cases and the only thing he did was to lie down on his sofa and stare at the ceiling.

"You haven't answered Lestrade's calls in weeks,"

"What about it?"

John shrugged. "It's not... you."

Sherlock didn't respond.

When John was present, they would chat about mundane things. John told him about his work, about his patients, about the new neighbours. Well, John talked and Sherlock only listened. But when John wasn't there, when Sherlock was alone, he would lock himself in his room and look at those pictures Mary had for hours. Sherlock looked at them with his alien eyes, trying to find something, a clue of what Mary wrote in her diary and what he didn't see.

The days passed by, and every time Sherlock glanced at his bedsit table, he remembered there was Mary's diary waiting for him, asking, almost begging to be read, to give away all the secrets Mary had in the deepest of her heart. However, the detective kept his hands off it. He couldn't even think in read it again, and he feared for what he would find.

If the previous entries he had read so far were good enough to be beaten to death by John, Sherlock didn't really know what else was written. What else Mary wrote and if that was good enough to be murdered by the widower.

But Sherlock found himself opening that diary again, the curiosity was difficult to endure and he found all the entries Mary wrote about the time his experiment with the termites got out of his hands and he had to ask her if he could stay with them.

Sherlock was not going to stay in a hotel, he didn't like them and he had his own theories about how clean they really were and still less he would have asked Mycroft. Mrs Hudson was staying at her sister's in Cardiff, so the only possible option was John and Mary's place, even if it was very tiny and they didn't have a sofa in which he could sleep on. Sherlock knew he was going to have to sleep on the floor, or if they had a big bed, he could stay there.

While reading the dates, he remembered visiting Mary at her shop, and going straight to the point.

Sherlock was carrying a small suitcase and coffee. As soon as he stepped in the shop, Mary waved her hand and continued sewing. He handed her the coffee and she kindly accepted, thanking him for the treat when she quickly asked him what he needed.

She knew him, she knew Sherlock needed to ask her something.

She knew him.

_"What happened, Sherlock?"_

_"An experiment got out of my hands and the termites I was experimenting with had ruined Mrs Hudson's stairs. There's people fumigating Baker Street and I would appreciate if you could let me stay with you and John while the pest control works on my flat."_

_"Oh, sure! Um, we don't have a sofa, but you can sleep on your bed? Hope you don't mind..."_

_"No, I don't."  
_

The detective remembered her facial expressions, her body language. Mary was OK with it, she never showed any kind of rejection, all the opposite. She was kind, keen to help him and even when he asked her not to tell John about the experiment, she assured him she was willing to help him, that he could trust her.

He knew he could.

They went to her and John's flat and they had dinner. Mary prepared some pasta and both ate in silence while watching some telly. He later explained her about his experiment and why he didn't want John to know about it. Mary only told him everything was going to be fine. But when he asked her at what time John was coming from work she said she didn't know because after completing a shift, John would usually be asked to stay a bit longer.

_"Err, Sherlock... I'm going to bed now, I need to get up early -"_

_"I'll go later."_

_"OK. Did you bring your pajamas? I can give you some of John's clothes,"_

_"That won't be necessary, I brought a bag. Besides, I highly doubt John's clothes would fit me."_

Mary giggled and went to her room. Sherlock sent some texts and waited for a significant amount of time until he knew Mary had already changed her clothes and was in bed.

When he got in the room, Mary was sitting on one side of the bed, with her back on the headboard and reading a book. It wasn't an awkward situation, they had already broken some of the boundaries normal people keep when it comes about friends. But that night, it was like any of their other days together.

There wasn't anything wrong with it.

They talked more about his trip to China and Mary told him all the things he missed, such as a serial murdered who liked to steal his victim's underwear and about the stupid kidnapping of the CEO of an important company. The minutes passed by, and soon Mary told him to have a good night, tossed to her side and turned off the lights. It was a matter of minutes until Sherlock did the didn't matter if he was lying on a foreign bed, and if he was next to his friend's girlfriend, or if it was the first time he was sleeping next to a woman, but Sherlock closed his eyes and fall asleep immediately. And he was deeply asleep not to realise in some moment of the night he tossed to the opposite side and buried his nose into a river of blonde and long hair.

Maybe that was one of the many reasons why John gone mad as soon as he came home and found them sleeping together on his bed, almost spooning, his nose buried on her hair.

John went mad. He started shouting and pointing at them both asking what the hell were they doing together, on his bed.

_"What the fuck are you doing in my bed? And - with my girlfriend! Bastard!" _

_Mary yawned. "Sweetie, I have three dresses to finish tomorrow, please."_

_"And I'm sure Lestrade will call -." Tried to say Sherlock when John interrupted him._

_"Answer my question! What the fuck are you doing in my bed? And - with my girlfriend! This, Sherlock, is the worst thing you could have done to me. And you Mary -"_

It took Sherlock a few minutes to calm John down and explain to him it was an emergency, that he was not sleeping with Mary and about the termites. Of course he didn't mention the termites were actually part of an experiment, but John understood. His fit of rage finished with a reassuring smile, and John even told Sherlock he could stay for as long as he wanted.

But memories weren't enough, and Sherlock locked himself inside his room and started reading a new entry.

_March, 3rd_

_The weirdest thing happened to me last night. Sherlock visited me at the shop and he brought coffee, and I knew something happened. Since he came back from China we barely talked as we used to, and he has barely visited me lately. I guess he's busy working. A part of me feels relieved, I'm fully concentrated in my relationship with John right now, but I also miss Sherlock. I miss our afternoons together, talking, drinking tea, doing nothing. The other part inside me still wants Sherlock. But that will never happen. Well, he asked me if I could let him stay with me and John because apparently the pest control was fumigating Baker Street. Apparently he put termites on Mrs Hudson's stairs as part of an experiment, but it got out of his hands. He asked me not to tell John and I told him he could trust me._

_I also told him he could stay for as long as he needed to. I know the experiment isn't the real reason. I know Sherlock, and I know there's something that is bothering him right now._

_The only thing I wanted was to go home with Sherlock and to find John here, but he wasn't. I guess he had to stay longer, so I felt a bit silly. It wasn't so awkward, I mean, I'm used to Sherlock and his mood swings and all, but not to have him on my bed next to me. After dinner I went to bed and he joined me later. He told me more about China and I told him more about what he missed while he wasn't in the country and then I told him good night._

_I was really tired, so I was completely confused when I heard John shouts. He came back home very late when he found Sherlock and me on bed. He thought we were together. For God's sake, I bet I'm the first woman Sherlock was lying next to! How could he? They went to the kitchen to talk and I fall asleep again. _

_Today I woke up and Sherlock was already awake. I told him I needed to leave early and he asked me if he could have a shower. __As far as I know, he's staying for a week. __Now I'm really worried. I was fine, I had gotten over him, I don't want to do something I will regret for the rest of my life._

_I want to love John and I don't want to hurt him. _

_Mary._

...

Sherlock remembered the following morning. After he had a shower John made them some breakfast and both talked about the termites thing.

_"Look, Sherlock - I don't have anything against you staying here with me and Mary -"_

_"You implied we were together!"_

_John nodded and waited for Sherlock to let him continue. "I was tired, it was dark and the only thing I wanted was get some rest next to the woman I love. You can stay as long a you wish. You're my friend and this is what friends do. And as we don't have a sofa yet, you will sleep with us. And thank God my bed is big."_

_When John finished talking, Sherlock was already nodding eagerly, making his still damp curls swing over his pale forehead. "Thank you, John. Can I sleep on the middle please?"_

Why he had to ask that? Why he did it? Why he didn't got a sleeping bag? He could have slept on the floor, but no, he asked to sleep with them, between them. Next to Mary.

Sherlock wanted to punch himself, he wanted to burn Mary's diary and he wished he could go back in time so he wouldn't have read it.

If he hadn't read it, he wouldn't have the desire to cry.

_March, 4th_

_Yesterday Sherlock went to my shop to visit me. He said he was bored, that John left to work and Lestrade didn't have any interesting case for him. I was sewing three different dressed for three noisy teenagers, but I took my time to look at him. Sherlock looks different, I can tell. I even asked him if he was OK, if he needed anything, but he said he was fine. I know he isn't._

_We bought some Chinese takeaway and we went back to the flat. We ate in silence and I looked at John now and then and I think he understood me. Sherlock is not well, I don't know what it is, but I know something is wrong with him._

_But today I woke up and I felt someone was breathing on my ankles. I also felt something soft brushing them and it was Sherlock! He's so funny, I don't know how he did it, but somehow he managed to move during the night and he was resting his head on our feet and his feet were on the pillow!_

_Tonight John has to work the night shift. _

_I don't really know what to do._

_Mary._


	14. Ignoring and regretting

**Author's Note: Hey, thanks for reading, sorry for my mistakes! Bear with me and in a few chapters we will know about Sherlock's feelings, about Mary's and a new twist is on the way! PLEASE, REVIEW!**

* * *

**CHAPTER XIII:**

**IGNORING AND REGRETTING  
**

He remembered that night. He was reading a few texts Lestrade had sent him when John left to work. Sherlock was able to hear his fuss downstairs, John didn't want to go to work that night knowing his girlfriend was going to be alone with everyone's favourite high-functioning-sociopath.

Sherlock ignored it.

Maybe he shouldn't have.

He could recall that night, it was as clear as water inside his mind. Mary was wearing a red apron, she cooked a very tasty roasted chicken and he didn't refuse, Sherlock at it, had wine and he even told Mary how much he enjoyed it. They talked a lot during dinner, Sherlock doing comments about her neighbours and what he had deduced about them during the day and Mary listened at him carefully, and adding her own comments too.

_"So, you don't have any case tonight, Sher?"_

No one called him that way. No one was allowed to call him _Sher_. The only one who did it and the only one allowed to call him so was Mary.

Sherlock ignored it.

Maybe he shouldn't have.

He said Lestrade was on holiday with Molly, and that the new D.I. in charge wasn't going to call him because he didn't approve on his methods. Mary smiled at him and asked if he could help her with her work. And finally, there they were, sitting on the big bed, resting their backs over the headboard. Mary was sewing a child's costume with sequins and Sherlock was helping her with the thread and the little and shiny elements.

The silence between them was comfortable. At least to Sherlock it was. On the other hand, Mary felt shy, and the detective was able to deduce she had the need to talk to him. But when John was there, with them, things were different. It felt like if John wasn't there, they couldn't have the nice time and conversations they always had.

But it was different before. Before he left to China, Mary was happy with him. She liked to talk lots, she asked him questions about his mind palace, and she even liked to tease him with funny, sometimes not so funny jokes. They would simply go to a nice café or to the movies, sometimes they would have dinner or lunch together and it was fine. They stopped doing that and that night the Mary Sherlock knew was gone.

_"You don't need to talk to me, Mary."_

Mary stopped sewing and looked at him, hurt by his words. Sherlock looked into her blue eyes, the same blue eyes John had, and the same eyes their children could have had.

She said they hadn't been alone in a while, and that she couldn't find something to talk about with him. Sherlock thought she meant because he was clever.

Sherlock ignored her comments.

Maybe he shouldn't have.

_"Something is bothering you, Sherlock. I don't know you as much as John does, but -"_

_"Nothing is bothering me. I'm fine, perfect, better than anyone."_

Mary took the sequins from his hands, and placed them on her bedside table. The simplest, brief touch of their hands made Sherlock froze. It wasn't like he never touched her hands. The nights in which they would have dinner and Mary would have more wine than her body could take he had to take her hand and lead her way back to her place. Or when they were simply walking on the streets, going to a café or wherever, as the gentleman he was he always offered her his arm. They were sharing a bed, and he had slept next to her for a couple of nights. It wasn't the first time they touched.

_"Sherlock, you can trust me. If there's something you need to talk about, or whatever, I'm all ears. I won't tell anyone, I promise."_

_"I said I'm fine."_

Sherlock made an special emphasis on the words as he pronounced them. The detective saw her as she froze on her place. Without saying more, Mary turned off the lights and tossed to her side. He did the same. Instead of occupying John's side, since he wasn't there because he was working, Sherlock remained his place, very close to Mary. The detective was able to remember the feeling he had inside his chest. Sherlock tossed and started poking Mary's bare shoulder with his index finger.

_"What's wrong, Sherlock?"_

_"My apologies."_

He never apologised to anyone. Maybe to Mrs Hudson twice, maybe to John once, but with Mary he always did an exception.

Sherlock recalls Mary tossing to face him. She smiled at him in a way he hadn't seen in a while. Sherlock kept his gaze on her, looking at her, trying to deduce her. She let a hand caress his dark curls, still smiling at him. Mary always caressed his curls. She said she loved his curls, that they were soft and that she wished her hair was like his.

In the afternoons, or sometimes mornings in which Sherlock would stay at Mary's shop because he was bored, he would lie on the chair she had and every time she walked past him she would caress his curls. She let her hands travel on his curls and he let her. No one else was allowed to touch his hair. The only one was Mary. Mary was his exception.

Sherlock ignored it.

Maybe he shouldn't have.

_"I only wanted to help you, Sherlock. You can't lie to us, something is bothering you and you're definitely upset. If you want to talk about it, as I said, I'm all ears and I won't tell anyone. If it's a men thing you can talk to John."_

He closed his eyes, feeling her warm hands on his curls and her blue eyes on him._  
_

Both fell asleep facing each other, covered with John's blue duvet._  
_

...

Still locked in his room, Sherlock continued reading Mary's diary looking for that particular night in which both shared the bed, in which both were alone. He remembered everything, but yet he wanted to read Mary's words, he wanted to know her point of view, what she felt, what she thought. If something else he ignored happened to her that night.

_March, 5th_

_I almost crossed the line. I think this is inappropriate and I think if it wasn't for, I don't know, some kind of angel I have, If I have one, I would have slept with Sherlock last night._

_John had to work late, and I was alone with Sherlock. I cooked something nice for him, and he ate it all. He even said it was tasty. John lately does not say such words. I guess that was one of the things that almost drove me crazy last night. I even called him Sher, something I haven't been doing since he left to China. It was my favourite nickname for him, and I'm the only one who called him like that. I guess he like it, otherwise he would have told me. Since he didn't have nay case, I told him if he could help me sewing the clown dress for a kid. He agreed and both were sitting on the bed when he told me I didn't need to talk to him. I almost cried, I really wanted to talk to him, but I swear if I had, I would have said a lot of things I would be regretting right now. If I had said the things I wanted to say, John would have kicked me out, Sherlock would have rejected me and I would be walking round the Thames looking for a nice spot to throw myself to the river and die. _

_I told him I didn't have much to say, that it was hard to find something to talk about with him. He's very clever, but it was a lie. I don't know if he deduced I was lying. I guess he did. I also asked him if there was something bothering him, that he could trust me, but he said he was fine. It hurt me the way he talked to me. I guess he was angry and I guess I was pushing him too much. I only turned to my side and tried to sleep. It was impossible, he was so close to me I swear I was very close to turn and kiss him. _

_I thought about what John told me months ago, about Sherlock's asexuality. I even considered the idea of wearing a nice nightgown to sleep and taste my theory, but it was too much and I feared John would arrive early. I know he would have asked me why I was wearing those clothes. John gets too noisy and too annoying sometimes. But he would have been right because I was only wearing it because of Sherlock and to attract him, somehow. _

_When I could finally close my eyes, I felt Sherlock's finger on my shoulder. He apologised and I tossed to face him. He's the loveliest man I've ever known. I touched his curls, God, I love his curls. He didn't say anything, I guess he liked it. I smiled at him and I told him he could trust me and that he could talk to me if anything was bothering him. _

_We both fell asleep like that, facing each other. I don't really know how I managed to sleep so close to him without jumping over him, without kissing him and without telling him how much I desire him. I really want Sherlock. I fear this is only sexual. What if I tell him how I feel, we have sex and then our friendship is ruined? I want to be her friend, but I want him as well. I also want John. Sometimes I think John is the man I would marry, have a family, a dog, and Sherlock is the kind of man I would only have sex. I don't think Sherlock would love me as John does. If I ran away with Sherlock, if some day that happens, it would only be physical. It will last a few months, well, weeks and then he would get bored of me and he would leave me. But with John I have stability, I know he will love me, always. And I don't want to take advantage of John. I'm not his girlfriend because of that, I'm his girlfriend because I love him._

_But I also love Sherlock._

_Mary._

...

Sherlock looked away. He couldn't look at Mary's diary and at her handwriting without thinking, conceiving her thoughts. Would he have accepted Mary? Would he have kissed her? Would he have told her he desired her as well? Would he have had sex with her? Would he have run away with her? Would he have got bored of her and left her as she thought? Would he have given her the love she wanted him to?

Turning the page, Sherlock saw a picture of himself and John. John had his blue eyes wide open, he was doing a mocking expression while Sherlock was hugging John. The detective was deeply asleep and under the picture there was a note.

_"The best friends of the world."_

John. Sherlock couldn't think about John. What would have happened to John if they had kissed, if they had been together, if they had run away together? Sherlock was sure John would have chased him to the end of the world and he would have killed him with his bare hands.

But what would John do right now if he found out Mary left a diary and Sherlock had it? What would John do right now if he read Mary's diary? What would John do right now if he read Mary wanted Sherlock?

And what would John do if he found out Sherlock doubts about himself, about his feelings?

And about loving Mary?


	15. Starting to Realise

**Author's Note: Hey, thanks for reading, sorry for my mistakes! Bear with me and in the next chapter we will know about Sherlock's feelings, about Mary's and a new twist is on the way! PLEASE, REVIEW!**

* * *

**CHAPTER XV:**

**STARTING TO REALISE  
**

_March, 6th_

_If two days ago I was very, but very close to cross the line and kiss Sherlock and do more than that, yesterday I was even closer to do so. I was having a shower when I came out and John was shouting to Sherlock something about me naked. I laughed, what else could I've done? When I asked Sherlock told me he needed to know what sex feels like for a woman. If John hadn't been there, I could've explained him myself._  
_I just told him my opinion. He said he'd never understand it and I just said he needed to be with a woman to understand it._

_It was funny, but inwardly I felt terrible. Has Sherlock deduced my feelings towards him? Sometimes I think he doesn't. He would've told me. I know he would._

_Mary._

_..._

_March, 9th_

_I had a very good party at Olivia's. She's getting married and we just drank, watched films and talked lots._

_The thing is I was at my shop a couple of hours ago when Sherlock came. He said Mycroft's men took good care of his things and then he told me what really happened with the termites. I was so close to hug him and kiss him. He told me put the termites under Mrs H's stairs to probe an alibi, yes, but he inwardly did it to spend some time with John. He never mentioned my name, I just hope he wanted to spend time with me as well._

_I guess he was afraid of my reaction, but I didn't say much. I only told him it was OK, that he shouldn't worry that much and that I'd tell John about it. We agreed it was going to be a secret and nothing more._

_Mary._

_..._

_March, 10th_

_I thought it was the end. After Sherlock told me about the termites, we went back to my flat and I started cooking. John arrived a bit later and he was pale. He didn't' say much, but he looked quite angry. Sherlock was typing on his computer. John walked past us and slammed the door behind his back. When we had dinner, things got worse. We acted normally, Sherlock and I. I talked about my clients and he talked about his deductions. But I can tell John was angry._

_After dinner I cleaned the table and I decided to go to sleep. Sherlock said he was going to lie down for a bit and he followed me to the room. John joined us thirty minutes or so later. I was brushing my hair and Sherlock was sitting on the middle of the bed. I made the terrible mistake and I asked him about his day. Not like I don't like to ask him that, but he told us he visited Mrs H, and that apparently she told him the termites had been planted. That there's been a break in and then he started asking us what we did in the afternoon. John's tone of voice was becoming quite serious. I know Sherlock was thinking he caught him and he knew about the termites, but for a moment I thought he was suggesting there was something between Sherlock and me._

_When John started swearing, I knew there was no coming back. Sherlock tried to make him go to the kitchen to talk about it, but John refused. He shouted at me as well and I started crying. He asked me why I never told him the truth, that Sherlock was the one who planted the termites, but I told him the truth. I told him I didn't knew it but he didn't believe me. But then both started shouting, Sherlock admitted it'd been his fault and that he was going to pay for the damage._

_John kicked Sherlock out of the flat. Sherlock took his bag and I ran after him, I couldn't just let him go to the streets, it was dark, it was late and I knew Sherlock didn't have any money. I begged Sherlock to stay, but he said he'd to go._

_I was really angry with John. He didn't have the right to do what he did. I told him how wrong he was and I he understood. He got dressed and he left, saying he would bring Sherlock back._

_I waited for them an hour or so. When they came back they were cold! I prepared enough tea to warm them a bit. It was late when we went back to bed. I kissed John and Sherlock good night and when I closed my eyes, I felt a bit of peace._

_Mary._

_..._

_March, 12th_

_John proposed._

_We went to a nice, fancy restaurant. John looked nervous. He kept looking at the windows and I wondered if Sherlock was coming. After dinner and before the dessert, he knelt next to me and asked me if I would marry him. For seconds I thought about it, it was clear he wanted mer to answer in that moment._

_I guess he'll never love me as much as I think I love him. John does love me. He doesn't. Sherlock doesn't._

_I love him. I love Sherlock. I love John. I love both. But I can't have both. I can only have one._

_And I said yes._

_Mary._

_..._

_March 25th_

_We went to Baker Street today. John said Sherlock invited us to have lunch with him. I guess John phoned him and told him he wanted to see him. We ate Chinese and when John told Sherlock we were getting married, he smiled at me. I don't really know if he knows. I think he does. He must know how I feel, he's Sherlock bloody Holmes and he knows everything. _

_He said he was glad. That's all he said and we continued eating. John kept talking about his patients and asking Sherlock about his latest cases. I remained silent, I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to feel Sherlock's eyes on me. _

_Mary._

_..._

_June, 5th_

_I went to Baker Street today. I was determined to tell him what I feel about him. I swear I was, but instead of that, when it was the crucial moment, when I was sitting next to him, I asked him if he would walk with me down the aisle the day of the wedding. _

_He accepted without hesitating. I don't have a father, he died years ago, and I honestly don't have anyone to fill that important place, that place where the important man in a woman's life, her father, walks with her down the aisle and gives her away to her husband. _

_I hugged him tightly and I cried. He thanked me and we both drank that awful coffee he makes. _

_Mary._

...

Sherlock remembered that day. He was experimenting on some eye balls when Mary arrived. She looked pale, and she said she was excited for the wedding, which was going to take place in just days. Sherlock made coffee and sat next to her. He looked at her fingers, the frown between her eyebrows and her lips. She looked nervous. Sherlock thought it was because of the wedding.

_"I need to ask you something," said Mary as she sipped her coffee._

_Sherlock didn't say anything. He waited for her to talk._

_"Would you... would you walk with me down the aisle? My father died years ago, and you're one of my best friends."_

_He knew her father died. He also knew Mary didn't have so many male friends. And he knew she was going to ask him that. _

_Sherlock nodded. "Of course."_

_Mary hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Sherlock. It means a lot to me."_

Sherlock closed the diary, understanding.

How could he have been so blind?

Sherlock wasn't even sure what he felt for his friend, for John's dead wife.


End file.
